


Identity

by Hephastia



Series: Lysippe Wayne [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), MCU
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Bombing, But there are a lot of good relatives too, College, Friendship, Having famous parents is hard, High School, Kidnapping, Kree, Lys finds some hobbies, MI-13 - Freeform, Olympics, Photography, Rowing, SATs, Skrulls - Freeform, Themyscira (DCU), Torture, do not repost on other sites, not terribly graphic, shi'ar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephastia/pseuds/Hephastia
Summary: Volume Two in the adventures of Lys Wayne.The Joker's back. What does he want? But the Joker is just one of the problems Lys faces.Previously published on Wattpad (2018)
Series: Lysippe Wayne [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525307
Kudos: 1





	1. Notification

I stood in the break room in shock, until the assistant manager touched my shoulder. "Lys, are you ok? You're white as a sheet."

"Bad news from my family," I managed. He frowned.

"You go deal with that, clock out. We're slow enough that I was going to ask if anybody wanted to go home anyway, we could stand to lose a few people with the snow coming and all." I thanked him and clocked out, calling Bob so that he'd be at the curb.

"Where to, Lys?" AI Tony said. "What's the matter? Your heart rate is elevated, respiration shallow, and you're pale and clammy."

"The Valkyrie," I said. "I need to talk to Grandma Alex." She'd said she was going to be working this weekend.

"Ok," he said, and the pod took a hard right down an alley. We were taking shortcuts then. Excellent. He let me off right in front of the doors and I zoomed into the elevator, which had just disgorged some shoppers. A couple more shoppers got on, and I waited until they'd gotten off on their floors before placing my finger on the discreet reader for access to the Valkyrie team's secure floors, wiping the reader to remove the print when I was done in an excess of caution. I stopped at the reception desk and smiled tensely at Agatha, the longtime Valkyrie receptionist.

"Lys, how are you, dear?" she asked, smiling at me. "How's school?"

"Doing really well for a change." She smiled. "How's your daughter doing?"

"She's also having a good semester," she said, and showed me the latest school picture. "If you're here to talk to Alex, she's not in the meeting, that's Serena's show, so go on back." I thanked her and trotted down the hall to tap on the door casing. Grandma looked up, surprised, but happy to see me. Well, that was going to change fast.

"Lys, honey, come in!" She got up and hugged me, letting me go but holding my shoulders. "What's wrong? You're shaking. Come sit down." She sat me down in the comfortable chair across her desk, sitting down on a desk corner, and Eira got up and placed her head on my lap.

"It's kind of complicated, but bear with me. You know my friend Jinx Johnson, right?" She nodded; he'd been at my birthday party. I drew a deep breath. "So he's adopted, but his birth mother meets with him for lunch three or four times a year, she wants to know how he's doing. His folks know that this happens, and it was part of the agreement that they made when he was adopted. So she's missed the last two meetings, and he was peeved about it. But today we were having lunch, he works in the same area I do and there's this deli--" I shut my mouth for a second to focus. "We were at lunch and this woman approached, knew who he was, asked to speak to him privately. So I left."

"Did the woman do something to him?" Grandma asked, frowning. I shook my head.

"Not that I know of, not physically. She had news for him, though. And you're really not going to like it." I bit my lip. "Jinx's name was originally just Jinx Quinn." Grandma's eyes widened immediately.

"Any relation to Harley Quinn?" she asked warily.

"That's his birth mom. She got pregnant just before Egypt." That was all I needed to say. She looked grossed out.

"The Joker?" I nodded.

"No wonder she didn't show up at the battle," she said slowly. "I wondered at the time. But she gave him up?" I nodded again.

"Apparently she didn't want her kid in her lifestyle, and she wasn't able or willing to quit, plus she knows she's not quite stable." Grandma snorted. "The arrangement was that the Johnsons could adopt Jinx if they agreed to keep his name and let her see him a few times a year. They agreed. But this woman...here. Just read this text." I passed over my communicator and stroked Eira's head.

"Oh, shit," she said. Her face was like ice. Eira padded over to her and I got up to pace. "Goddamn it, I should have made sure he was dead. And Poison Ivy's involved too. That can't be good." Venom rolled from her voice. I turned toward her and an unexpected hand gripped my shoulder. I eeped, whipped around and did a few things Uncle Bucky had taught me, ending with dislocating the shoulder attached to the hand that had been on my shoulder. Which belonged to my Uncle Tony.

"Oh, shit," I said, distressed, dropping to my knees to help him sit up, gently popping his shoulder back into place. Yay first aid class! "I'm so sorry, Uncle Tony. I wasn't expecting anybody."

"It's ok, kid," he said, grimacing and holding the shoulder. "I came when I got the pod report."

"I've called for reinforcements," Grandma said. "Where did you learn to do that, Lys?"

"After I got the cast off my ankle, I asked Uncle Bucky for some self-defense training. He modified what I wanted to achieve," I explained as I helped Uncle Tony up and over to the chairs.

"Just curious, what was your original goal?" he asked. "Because that's damned effective."

"I wanted to rip an attacker's arm off and beat them with it, but he said it wasn't feasible." Delara came in with coffee for two, set down the tray, and came back with a third cup, pouring and distributing the coffee.

"I've got some more people arriving in a hurry, Delara," Grandma said.

"I'll make more coffee," Delara said crisply.

"And put the kettle on, please," Grandma added. "Damian's on his way too."

It took less time than I'd thought for the others to show up. There was Grandpa Damian, but also my dad, who'd been in his office to sign some contracts, Uncle Richard, and Grandpa Bruce. There was a brief, charged silence after I'd recapped.

Then the questions. So many questions. "Does this boy know who you really are?" Grandpa Bruce demanded to know. "Why the hell did you get to be friends with the son of the Joker?"

"Biology isn't destiny," I shot back. "Or is Tabby taking up a life of crime too? Jinx is just a normal kid. Wants to be a teacher. He's not like his mom, and everybody thought his dad was dead." He jerked back like I'd slapped him.

"Does Harley know who you are, Lys?" Dad asked, stroking my hair.

"Jinx always calls me Anna, all of them do." Whoops.

"Just how many scions of criminal masterminds are you friends with?" Grandpa Bruce wanted to know, testily. I sighed.

"Several. You guys already knew about Imogen. The others have criminal parents, but only Jinx and Nix have any contact with them. Nix's dad goes out of his way to keep him away from his criminal enterprises."

The Batmen, current and former, digested this. "Somehow I never thought that criminals would reproduce," Grandpa Bruce said. Uncle Richard threw him a look.

"They know who I am," I said quietly. "And who you guys are, incognito. It's not a secret in the criminal underworld, apparently. But I told them that I wasn't going to out them anyway, they're just normal kids, don't want to be career criminals. And if anybody thinks to use them, I'll tell Grandma Martha and Grandpa Thomas," I finished, looking right at Grandpa Bruce, who flushed.

"We need to make plans, Petal," Grandpa Damian said to his wife, smoothing his thumb along her cheek. My communicator buzzed as the adults started talking.

*Voice to text*

JJ: Anna, you've got to get help. Dr I said that the Joker's completely lost it, absolutely nuts, and Harley's like, under his spell or something. Dr I said that she's told him about me. I don't know what to do, I'm going to Nix's dad. I never told Harley who you were, but your grandma will be in his cross hairs.

I interrupted to read off this new information.

"Ok, who's this Nix and his dad?" Uncle Richard wanted to know.

"Phoenix Chesterfield. His dad is--"

"Oswald Cobblepot?" Grandpa Bruce asked incredulously. I nodded.

"Nix said once that his dad mostly traded in information these days," I said. Uncle Richard pushed off the wall.

"I'll go by the Icebox Lounge," he said immediately. "He has gone a lot straighter. But if the Joker's back, that changes the balance of power in the underworld and Penguin might think to use your friend as some kind of bargaining chip with the Joker, friend of his son or not." He left, walking quickly. I bit my lip, I was scared for Jinx.

"Harley never could keep a secret from the Joker," Grandma Alex said. "It's a really twisted dynamic. He's very abusive to her, but she just can't stay away from him. And the Joker wanted offspring to build an empire with." Her voice and face were as hard as the granite that the building was made out of.

"So everybody knows that the Joker was obsessed with you," I said to Grandma. "But he's got to have a lot on his mind right now. Why would you be a specific and early target?"

"Because I left him to die on the sands of Abu Simbel and he knew it was me," she said flatly. "I severed his spine and dropped him off my blades. Dammit, I should have just killed him."

"We don't kill," Grandpa Bruce said automatically.

"I've killed before, what's one more? And now, because I didn't finish the job, an innocent kid's in danger." Grandma looked sad. "And all this... mess is back."

"I'll see if I can think up some self defense gadgets, Lys," Uncle Tony said, rubbing his shoulder. "But you've got some skills, there." He winked at me and got up. "Your pod is as close to impregnable as I can make it. Stock it with snacks, fill the water bladder, and you'll be able to sit tight inside for a long time. The air filters are strong and complex, and the air supply routes through the engine, which runs hot enough to kill bacteria and viruses before they even hit the filters. If you're in a hazardous situation, you can cut the outside air and there's a mask behind the head rest that will scrub the CO2 and keep you breathing for over an hour if you stay calm. That's enough time for help to reach you." He kissed my hair, then spoke to Grandma. "Bring your pod by, Tiger, and I'll retrofit what I can. But widen your scope as well. He went after your brother once, remember, and you've got a lot of descendants now."

"You'd better warn your friends, Lys," Dad said. "Jinx might not have time, and if he's on the run, he might be afraid to." I nodded and sent a text, starting with the three digit numerical code they'd devised for an alert to be taken seriously.

"Who else has kids?" Grandpa Bruce wanted to know.

"Justine is Professor Pyg's daughter. Justine said her mom left her dad before she knew she was pregnant. Mark's Scarecrow's son. Ari, Ari Elliot, Hush. Mark and Ari's moms are terrified of their kids' dads."

"With reason," Grandpa Bruce rumbled. "But Tommy was just psychopathic, not powered, and Nightwing stranded him in a pocket dimension. I'm not going to say it's impossible, but there really shouldn't be any way out. Your friend Mark, though, yes, he's got a lot to be worried about. Even I find Scarecrow... daunting. As far as Pyg is concerned, I can't imagine that he'd take any more interest in her than he does anybody else. If he did find out about her, the use of his last name might save her from becoming one of his 'Circus of Strange.' On the other hand, he had a son once, Janosz, and Pyg killed his mother when he deemed her imperfect. He's schizophrenic and refuses to be treated. Janosz was killed in gang violence shortly after the Return."

Grandpa Damian crossed over to talk with his father, who got on the phone to Grandpa Xander. Grandma Alex got on the phone. I heard a quaver in her voice. "Uncle Bucky?"

"Ok, Lys, we're going to do a threat assessment to see how likely it is that you'll be a target of the Joker. A lot will depend on whether we can extract your friend. Imogen will be ok, Dick and Barbara can protect her, and you've warned your friends. You don't think Harley knows who you really are?" Dad asked.

I shook my head. "Jinx has a fondness for his birth mother, but he's really cautious around her. As far as he's concerned, his parents are his adoptive parents and he said he speaks only generally about his activities and friends. No last names, no specifics, and definitely no genealogy. And she never pushes for more, he said. And anyway, Anna Wayne is not one of of those Waynes. In the rare times I've been shown in the media, I've been identified by my first name."

"You might not have planned for it, honey, but that idea to use a new nickname was really good."

"It was Grandma Alex's idea, actually." Dad smiled.

"So here's what's going to happen now," Grandpa Bruce said, getting off his communicator. "Dick caught up with Penguin at his place of business. Your friend Jinx was there, Lys. Penguin said he wouldn't have used the boy as leverage or bait and Dick thinks he's sincere, but it's best to remove temptation. Dick gave the Penguin some incentive to cooperate, namely, that it's in his best interest to keep the Joker out of business. The Joker's always disruptive, and Penguin likes the smoother flow of information. Dick's going to take Jinx home and explain things to his parents, see if they'll agree to protective custody. We'll be going out tonight with the boys and we will know more by morning. Somebody in Dick's taskforce will hunt up your friends' parents, Lys, and confer with them. Until then--"

"Lys will be home. Tell Dick that we can always host Jinx until Joker's been dealt with," Dad said.

"Bucky will be coming out and he wants to assess your training, Lys," Grandma said, and I nodded. She cracked a smile. "He was pleased to hear that your reflexes are so sharp." I felt so bad about Uncle Tony.

"I don't want the Joker here and conniving, out for my wife and family," Grandpa Damian said. "We should bring in the Justice League for help." Grandpa Bruce nodded.

"This is not good news, and you're right to be worried, Lys," he said. "But thanks to you, we can get a jump on planning, we won't be just reacting to whatever he has planned. He's not going to be pleased that his guns are spiked. You're going to have to be careful, that's true, everyone will have to be, but it's not going to last forever. Keep that in mind."

Dad escorted me down to my pod, and I settled in for the short trip home. I called Aunt Ann immediately, asking if Uncle Tony was really ok. She said that he was fine, pleased that I had some self defense skills, and also that that I wasn't to worry about it. AI Tony waited until I was done and went over the safety features again with me; some of them were new from the last upgrade, like that CO2 scrubber. The recitation helped settle me down.

"I don't suppose there's a dial where I can change your color," I said. Pods came in a whole range of colors these days, but the pretty lavender/purple was distinctive. I wasn't surprised when it said no. The AI kept me chatting, responding, on the way back home, boosting the heater a bit. I was still freaked out. Everybody knew what he'd done to Grandma Alex, and I didn't want to contemplate it happening again. Uncle Bucky would be coming out to help assess her fighting abilities, but I'd be grateful to talk to him too. I had a few questions for him.


	2. Planning

The snow was coming down heavier as we drove home. This was both pretty and kind of worrisome. I usually love driving in the snow; it feels more private, but in my current state of paranoia, privacy seemed like isolation, and the snow would increase the number of emergency calls, delaying responses. So that was a nice thought to be going home with.

I was grateful to pass through the gates and up the drive. "You can relax," AI Tony said. "Just remember, Lys, you're not helpless. You've learned a lot since the kidnapping attempt, and Barnes will have a few new tricks up his sleeve, I can pretty much guarantee it. Your home and the estate are as secure as we could make it; the defenses and alarm systems have redundancy built in, different power sources, and they're hard to discover. So you can feel secure. Tony's at work finding ways to keep you and your family safe." The little avatar made me smile; a whole lot of very competent people were on it, not just Tony.

When I got in, Mom swooped in for a big hug, holding me tightly. She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear after letting me go, studying me carefully. "Bucky's on his way. He wants to talk to you, possibly teach you a few new moves, so why don't you go up and change, get ready?" I took the opportunity to trudge upstairs, get a grip on myself, then changed into comfortable pants and a nice warm long-sleeved fleece shirt, putting on shoes with grippy soles. I puttered around my room a bit, straightening things, closing the draperies even though I didn't have to. Touching the good fabrics was calming. I took off downstairs to the batcave and warmed up, which was where Uncle Bucky found me.

He took some time to run me through some scenarios where I could show him that I remembered what he'd taught me. "Good, Lys," he said approvingly. "Stark said you dislocated his shoulder. It's good that you didn't hesitate to act, but we need to talk about threat assessment more so you take out only the people who deserve it." He considered this. "Not that Tony's not occasionally irritating, but..." I nodded, smiling slightly, and we did work on that. He also taught me some of what Uncle Steve would probably say were dirty tricks, but he's huge, juiced with superhero serum, with extraordinary combat experience. I'm little and new at this, so I was happy to learn how to punch a kidney. Then there were exercises in threat assessment that I was to use every day; assessing crowds, locating exits and escape routes, determining if anybody looked like they were a real target. The techniques weren't hard or time consuming, and Uncle Bucky said that it was a matter of making it a habit. "Now, there's also time for something new," he said, nodding. "You could learn how to use this" got tangled up with my "Could you teach me how to use this?"

He held out a collapsible metal baton. I held out the knife that Mom had brought me back from Themyscira, the gift of the General Aunt Antiope.

"Well." He stared at the knife. "I was not expecting that."

"Mom brought it back from the island the last time she went back," I said. "Her aunt the general gave it to me, she said it was dangerous here. I thought she was overreacting, but..."

"Do you really think you could kill another human being, Lys?" He cocked his head and studied me.

"I won't know for sure until or unless I get to that point," I said slowly. "But for my continued health and safety, yeah, I think so, against a bad person. I know Grandpa Bruce would disagree, he's said so all my life, but he's not me. I'm not tall and while I'm pretty strong for a girl my age thanks to the sports I play, I'm not stronger than most males. And the Joker is malignant; from the little Jinx said, he's even worse now. I don't want to be in his line of fire at all, but him or me? I can do that math with no trouble." Uncle Bucky smiled very slightly.

"Hopefully you'll never have to find out, honey, but that's a practical attitude to have and it could save your life." So he showed me some real basic knife... skills? The downside is that you have to be close to use a knife, but the upside is that virtually nobody would expect me to have a knife, much less use one. I'm not a batperson, I'm in the Red Cross club and the National Honor Society, for heaven's sake. But there I was, learning where the best targets were, how far in I'd have to push the knife, and how to deal with ribs. From my perspective, it would be optimal if the person I wanted to stab would take his shirt off, but you can't really expect that, so I had to visualize and estimate where bone was. And expanded my threat assessment to minimize the chances of my knife being used against me. He did teach me how to use the collapsible baton too, using one of the practice dummies. That was strangely cathartic. But if I had to use any of these methods, I'd be playing for keeps, not to disarm or keep somebody at bay. He didn't sugarcoat that at all and it gave me a lot to think about.

At dinner, Mom had briefed Deri and reassured us both that steps were being taken for our protection and that of others. Dad wasn't home, still working on the problem with the others. Captain Gordon hadn't been pleased to learn that the Joker wasn't in fact dead, but knowing this before there was some calamity was huge, and he could put the resources of his team on the case. Jinx and his parents were going into protective custody at least until there was more information, so he'd be skipping school. I knew that he could do his classwork remotely, so he wouldn't get behind, and it would keep his agile mind engaged. He'd be given a new communicator and number, but we wouldn't get that until it was safe for him and us. We could still email, though; the data packets sent out by computers would have a dummy IP address on them so his physical location couldn't be traced. He was as safe as he could be. After dinner, I went up and conferenced my friends in a visual meeting. Updating them on the safety issues for Jinx was necessary.

"Your dad got in touch with my mom," Mark told me. "I'm going to go to court tomorrow to change my last name. That way if anybody's looking for something on Scarecrow, it won't be me. It'll be under seal to minimize the paper trail; my stepdad's adopting me so after about noon tomorrow, I'm going to be Mark Light and the school will be updated immediately. My records, ID, and everything will be changed, and after awhile, nobody at school will really remember."

"The Joker worked a lot with Scarecrow," I said soberly. "If the Joker finds out about you, he might tell him about all the kids, which... nobody can predict how he'd react to the news. Kids are leverage, which is why most active heroes don't have them unless they're going into the business as well." They nodded.

"Do you want to be adopted?" Imogen asked curiously, and Mark blushed.

"Yeah, actually. My stepdad has wanted to for awhile, but Mom thought it might be some protection against my dad if I still had his last name. But he doesn't know about me, and from what that detective told me, it probably wouldn't stop him from experimenting on me if he wanted, so why not? And the holidays are coming up; people are always distracted then, we'll be out of class in about a month, so next semester I'll be in the new seating chart with my new name, no adjustment required."

"And people are more likely to respond positively to good news and use your new name without fuss or comment," Ari said, nodding. "Imogen's dad came to talk to my mom. He said that Tommy isn't coming back although he didn't say why--"

"Pocket dimension," I supplied. "Not completely foolproof but highly unlikely that he'll be back."

"Uh, ok," he said. "So she's going to go ahead and get the courts to declare him dead. She actually has a document from him, acknowledging their relationship and giving her a share in his fortune. He did it so she'd be easier to control, not many people would walk away from that much money," he said as an aside. "She's going to confer with some lawyers to see if it would be in my best interests to have me acknowledged as Tommy's son, but the detective also said that there are ways to obscure the money trail if she's worried about old enemies."

"Dad could help her with that," I said. "Or somebody in the family."

He nodded. "But after that, I'll be getting my name changed too. My stepfather's never offered to adopt me, so I think it'll be something nice and innocuous." I felt bad that his stepfather was so different from Mark's. Nix wasn't changing his name; not many people knew that 'Chesterfield' was the Penguin's middle name, and his dad really would act to protect him.

"It's just Mom and me now," Justine said calmly. "She doesn't want me to take her last name just in case Pyg remembers her, but she also got a visit, this one from Captain Gordon. He also offered a sealed name change if I wanted it. Mom and I are considering it; I don't want to take too long, but I don't know what I'd want to change it to."

Imogen shrugged. "I was going to go ahead and do it anyway," she said, and we all looked at her with interest. "Dad and Barbara asked, and I'd like... not to be ashamed. Or to put where I come from behind me. It would be nice to belong to a family," she said softly. Ha. Another cousin brought safely into the fold. Willingly, now.

We talked some more, about innocuous things like Thanksgiving and finals coming up, I think to restore a sense of normalcy. I hated that things felt weird now for my friends, even though it wasn't my fault. We hung up and my next call was to Rob, Arch, and Rain, just letting them know; they'd tell their parents so that Daredevil and Doctor Strange would know about the impending doom. Rain had the idea to spread the word to the sidekicks and OSO (other superhero offspring) we'd met at the social event. The four of us had kind of clicked with different ones, but everybody knew somebody, and word would diffuse. If the Justice League was going to be brought in, then the sidekicks were going to be informed anyway, and an intelligence network of our own suddenly seemed like a good idea. I yawned as we hung up, then called Jon and Wally. Neither of them picked up, not that I'd really expected them to, so I left a message telling them what was coming up, mentioning Rain's idea of passing word along, then hung up. I'd done what I could. Not much, I grant you, but maybe it would help.

I yelled when there was a tap on the door, figuring it was Deri, but it was John. "Wow, this is nice, Lys," he said, stepping in and looking around.

"Haven't you seen it? I thought you had," I said, frowning.

"Oddly, no," he said. It seemed weird; we'd been in and out of each other's rooms all the time until he left for boarding school.

"Huh. Come and sit down," I offered, gesturing to the other chair. I'd lit some candles in the fireplace, not wanting to build a fire when I was planning on going to bed early. I was tired from all the upset.

He flopped into the other chair and sighed. "So what's going on? Ms Alex is freaked out and Mr Damian is worried."

"The Joker's back," I said. "Jinx is his and Harley Quinn's son, which is how I found out. He doesn't want to meet his bio father and told me to tell who I needed to."

"Given his history with your grandma, I'm not surprised you told her," he said. I nodded.

"So everybody's trying to figure out how much concern is warranted."

"Which would by why Mr Bucky was at dinner."

"Yeah, he wanted to talk to me about threat assessment, make sure I remembered what he'd taught me, went over a few new things." I explained, then debated with myself briefly. "I normally wouldn't say, because it's not my story, but all my friends at school who are more than just casual friends have parents who are in the super game," I said, explaining who everybody's parents were. For anyone else, this would be an unacceptable risk, but I trusted John completely. He listened carefully and nodded. "So this whole thing impacts a lot of people."

"I'll be discreet," he promised, and I smiled. Of course he would, he was his parent's son, after all. "But it's good to know. What did Mr Bucky teach you?"

"Bunch of not-sporting hand to hand moves, how to use a collapsible baton to best effect, how to knife somebody."

John's gray eyes popped open. "Jesus, Lys, remind me never to piss you off." I snorted.

"Unless you're playing for the other side, you have nothing to fear. I have no desire to explain to your parents that I folded, spindled, or mutilated you in any way." He laughed and slouched in his chair.

"I don't want to disappoint them either," he said absently. "I think I did, getting sent back here, but at the same time, I missed home. Mum and Dad, life here, my best friend. It's good to be back."

"I told you you were being too impulsive," I reminded him. He'd been so determined not to be left behind Dari and Z that he insisted on going to boarding school too. I didn't think he'd really thought it through, I'd pointed out he'd be on his own if he didn't want to go to New Baghdad with his siblings. He had a really bad case of sibling rivalry and wanted to succeed on his own.

"Don't tell me you told me so," he growled. "Not in the mood, Lys."

"I never predicted that you'd punch out some snot and get expelled," I said mildly. "But I'm glad you're back. I missed you, and you really are terrible with the email writing and all."

"I meant to, but there was always something, the curse of a highly regimented schedule," he apologized. "My friends there say I'm officially a disgrace, unofficially a hero." We talked some more and it was as comfortable as old times.


	3. Obsidian

The next week was busy for some of my friends. Jinx was in protective custody along with his parents and we missed him. Mark missed Tuesday's classes; he was appearing in closed court to be adopted and get his name changed and the records were promptly sealed. They did it before the courthouse was open, actually, to cut down on potential observers as much as possible, but he took the day to celebrate with his parents. Ari's mom consulted with some attorneys that Dad recommended through Uncle Richard, and she determined to go ahead and have Hush declared dead, claim the money due her, and put it into investments for Ari. The rest of the money was up for grabs, but Ari didn't want it and so his paternity would go unacknowledged, to his relief. Ari went to another early court session on Friday and his surname was changed to 'McMaster,' which was actually the name of an author he loved. No connection to his mother or Tommy Elliot, should someone come looking, and he was really relieved. The sealed record existed, but the risk of anything exposing that was low; the court had the ability to update the guys' IDs, so they were able to pick them up on the way out. Their Social Security numbers were changed as well, but that identity was automatically updated through the federal database and took a day.

Imogen's name change was done during regular business hours with her whole immediate family attending; her half-siblings came home for that. Her file as a foster kid was quietly sealed at the same time, but since Tarantula had been dead for so long and hadn't been a major villain anyway, secrecy wasn't deemed necessary. Nix said she was pretty much forgotten in the underworld, aside from a few people like his dad, who collected information. And she was considering Aunt Barbara's offer to be adopted by her.

Justine and her mom were going to both get their names changed. Uncle Richard said that it seemed Professor Pyg had gone off the radar and nobody knew if that was good or bad. Justine was going to make Valentin her middle name and they decided on the surname 'Greenwood' together, kind of a fresh start for them both. Because of her mom's work schedule, that wasn't done until the following week. And Dad got us all secured communicators so we could at least grouptalk with Jinx. They were only for that purpose, and we only used them when were alone in our rooms. I also used that to work with him on our history class.

It didn't take long for the initial panic over the Joker's reappearance to subside as the adults went to work. It stayed in the back of my mind, though, an itchy spot between my shoulder blades that never really went away. Why, I don't know, since frankly, I expected Grandma Alex's kids to be more prime targets than one kid out of an extended family.

The week of Thanksgiving, my pod told me that Uncle Tony wanted to see me, so we trundled over after school. "Get rid of the guilty look, kid," he said, hugging me. "It's a load off my mind that you can defend yourself so well, and my shoulder's fine now. I had a lot worse injuries as Iron Man." He steered me back to his office, always filled with fascinating bits of stuff. "The AI forwarded your question about the paint on your pod, and that got me thinking." He grinned at me, and I smiled back.

"Always dangerous," I said, and he laughed.

"I've got a changeable paint that we're going to trial. You'll be able to adjust the color with a small control pad, and the default setting will be your current purple paint but you can change that to almost any color you can imagine. It can also show metallic flake, iridescence, pearl, or cream as options. Endlessly customizable. It's still got the protective properties of the original paint because of the vibranium."

"Wow," I said. "I shouldn't be surprised whenever you pull a rabbit out of your hat each time, but yet I am."

"Maybe it will make caution more fun," he said, shrugging, the smile sliding off his face. "And this is also for you." He slid a bracelet across the table to me. It was about a centimeter wide, heavier than it looked, and I put it on.

"It's pretty," I said, admiring the midnight blue shading to deep purple on an enamel inset. There was some engraving around the bezel that was lovely.

"Pinch the sides, anywhere."

So I did, and sat there in shock as a metal skin flowed over me, covering almost everything that a fencing jacket would, plus both hands and a sort of tight hood. And in the palms were his trademark repulsors. My eyes were huge.

"I know Barnes has taught you some armed self-defense techniques, which is good, but you have to be close to be able to use them. This gives you distance, a fairly powerful weapon, and protection all in one."

"Wow," I breathed, touching the metal. The glossy, glass-like color was the same as what I'd thought was enamel on the bracelet, with silver-toned accents. The nanite armor moved like fabric as I extended my arms.

"To retract it, press the design on the sternum," he instructed, and looking down, I saw a lozenge shape outlined with the same engraving that the bracelet had. I tapped that and the nanites retreated smoothly back into the bracelet form. "It's not full Iron Man armor, but definitely several steps above even the best commercial protective vests."

"This is amazing, Uncle Tony," I said, marveling as I looked at it.

"Well, it's not a superhero suit, so don't go looking for trouble," he instructed me, then offered me dried blueberries from a packet. "You should be able to have a normal life, do the things you like to do, and this will help. It does have limitations, however. The repulsors are good for one discharge each, and they're not as strong as arc-reactor powered repulsors. The armor can be damaged, so don't hang around if you have to use it." 

"I feel a lot better," I said. I did, too. Knowing that I had this protection was a big relief. Uncle Tony literally had my back. "How's Carolyn?"

"Making her old man proud at MIT," he said. Proudly. "The color on your jacket is her invention, actually."

"It's gorgeous," I said. "She's amazing." He nodded.

"I prefer less of a shine, but she seemed positive that you'd like it." And he went on to explain that it was powered by kinetic energy, storing it most efficiently, an adaptation of a technology he'd invented to harvest electricity from the tides. He made collectors that sat on the seabed and collected the energy from water movement. The patents had been awarded last month and power companies were clamoring for them. He had a team working on adapting it for wind, envisioning poles wrapped with the collectors rather than big turbines that killed birds.

It turned out that the paint would take awhile, so I went home with Grandpa Damian. School was out for the holiday, so the pod would deliver itself to me when it was done. I didn't have to work until Black Friday, but if something happened and it took longer than that to fix, my parents could take me in and bring me home. I could use their pods, but they weren't as well-equipped as the family pods and they refused to take a possible risk. I hoped Uncle Tony got the paint right the first time.

He did, and when it arrived on Wednesday, I sat in it to play around. I could see the paint color changing on the little hood, and finally settled on a nondescript metallic silver. With lavender undertones, but still well within the range of normal. Boring as all get-out. "But wait; there's more," AI Tony said grandly.

"Why am I not really surprised?" I asked it, and it smirked.

"On the divider behind your seat is a new compartment," it said. "You can open it just by reaching back and pressing hard." I did, and I heard a whisper as the door retracted. Wanting to see what was going on, I squirmed around in my seat to observe a space about 12" x 18" x 12". "The stereo components had to be moved a bit to make room, so the sound won't be as perfect but should still be good. Inside is a blanket; you were shivering when the whole Joker news went down and blankets are comforting. There's also a flashlight in case the lights in the pod don't work for some reason. You can put things of your own there as well, a book, whatever. And Ann added some snacks; there's freeze-dried fruit, nuts, and chocolate squares."

"Ooh," I said. "Aunt Ann is my favorite aunt." The AI laughed but I was serious. They were coming out for Thanksgiving; I'd have the chance to thank them personally.

"And one final thing; in the event of an emergency, the windows will automatically darken so that nobody outside can see you inside. Additionally, a fine vibranium grid has been sandwiched in the glass, making the glass almost impossible to break through. And my program has been modified. If you're unconscious inside, I will be able to unlock the pod if I can verify that legitimate emergency responders are present. This will protect you against a criminal pretending to be a cop, for example. I can scan the badges, license plates, match IDs to faces."

"That's amazing," I said, shaking my head. "Uncle Tony thinks of everything."

"Nobody can think of everything, hence the continual upgrading," AI Tony said, the amusement dropping from its voice. "He's worried that the Joker will come after either Alex herself or one of her female descendants, and frankly, you'd be the easiest to grab, the least guarded. Or so it would look to someone unfamiliar with you and your abilities."

We talked a little more, and I got out, reluctantly sending it down to the garage. The morning of Thanksgiving, John and I got up early and went to the rowing club for practice. The club was open, security guards on duty, a few people in the weight room, but we were the only ones practicing in the tanks. No coaches were around, but John took it upon himself to coach me , directing me to make a few changes that I could see had immediate results. I felt stronger as I pulled, but it also showed that I'd need to up my cardio.

"You've got a lot of potential, Lys," he said as I got out of the tank and racked the shell. "Especially since you're new to the sport and a year ago you weren't even walking. Keep working hard, you'll go places." I laughed, and he waved me off. "You know what I mean. You'll be good." And on that note, I went on to put some time dry land training. I was still working to strengthen my ankle, although the doctor thought I was nearly there. The bone was completely healed, he kept telling me, and my muscle was nearly the equal of my left ankle. But I was still nervous about it, having so many pins in there made it feel fragile.

We got home in good time to clean up for dinner; it was just extended family this year, and looking around, I was grateful for each one. And I was glad that John was back, even though it was a mixed blessing for him. The cousins, this year including Imogen, took over the games room while the adults hung out in the library, and John and I whomped everybody at pool. It was fun. Dinner was delicious, as usual, and afterward, there was coffee in the library. The dessert had been served at the tables, a selection of pies and cheesecakes. Yum. Cheesecake. So dreamy, and it was served with a bittersweet chocolate sauce. Fortunately I was full and couldn't fit in more than a single slice. I thanked Uncle Tony and Aunt Ann, and Uncle Bucky was glad to hear that I had more defenses and that I was training with the exercises he'd given me. The bat cave had a program that let you work on threat assessment and initial engagement and it gave you a score and suggestions for improvement after each exercise. Perhaps most surprising, Uncle Steve gave me a really odd knife. The blade was about six inches long, with a handle, but it was completely metal free, black and primitive looking.

"It's obsidian. It can break fairly easily, but the bright side of that is that each piece is also very sharp. And it won't show up in the common metal detectors, so it's a better choice to keep on you," he explained. "You can keep that dagger as a backup weapon if you want." I thought actually that it might be a good idea to put the metal one in the storage compartment in my pod. I could velcro the scabbard right inside the opening so that it would be easy to find and grab. The obsidian knife was shorter and wider than the metal blade, and the wooden hilt felt good in my hand. I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. "I think Buck's got the right idea," he said soberly. "If you're attacked by anyone, not necessarily some legendary criminal, you need to both defend yourself and get away. Make sure your cardio's good, Lys, so you can sprint." Great. Now I really did have to put more time in, since he'd be sure to follow up. And I couldn't blow him off, not when the concern was for my well-being.


	4. Balking

I had ample time to catch up with the cousins at the dinner; they were all taking more precautions. Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian had tried to pressure all their kids to move back home, at least for awhile, but they'd all flatly refused. They'd agreed to up their personal security, and Grandma Alex had personally spoken to their landlords to get their ok to add some security systems to their apartments. The first was a wire screen over the windows that would fry anything bigger than a bird that came knocking. The doorframes were all reinforced to prevent being kicked in, and a smart lock was installed in the exterior door that monitored anybody going in and out; for example, they could see whether a repair technician had done the job and left, or if they were still inside. They also quickly got into the habit of scanning their apartments to make sure that no one had planted a listening or recording device somehow or had a microphone trained on the windows, but the electrified screens also would help fuzz that. Their pods were tricked out similarly to mine, and that was about all that could be done. Iris went to classes at a university where the campus was open to the public, and Miles worked in a building that had a lot of natural light and a security guard at the front desk, nothing more. But Iris was very proficient at Krav Maga and Miles had gotten a black belt in judo before he totally obsessed about ballet; they'd never let the training slack, so they were pretty well-protected. They refused bodyguards unless a defined threat was discovered, and that was that. Martha and Xander owned their own places and already had them well-defended; Martha worked at Valkyrie and Xander at Wayne, so security was less of a problem for them and they curtailed their social engagements somewhat. All Grandma Alex's descendants got the passive tracker in their hands. Parents did everything they could to make us safe, but I took it with a grain of salt. As the kidnapping attempt had shown, goons with a good plan and the muscle and equipment to make it happen could be surprisingly effective. I only took off the bracelet in the shower, though.

As a reward to myself for my compliance with restrictive terms set forth by my parents (I could go to school, work, and the tennis and rowing clubs, and that was pretty much it, no dates, no goofing off, no nothing) I'd registered for an online course at UAL over the Christmas break on fashion media styling where I'd learn the roles of a stylist working today, take an in-depth look at commercial styling in lookbooks, advertisements and ecommerce, learn how to interpret a style brief, make contacts using fashion PRs and social media networks, discuss pathways into styling, sourcing research both online and in print, decide what tools are needed in a styling kit and know where to buy them, and how to work on a professional studio photoshoot directing a team which includes a professional model, photographer and hair and makeup artist. I'd compile two looks using virtual reality and submit them through the school's homework portal as well as other assignments. The restrictions made it a lot harder to get my photography assignments done, but my parents talked to my teacher and I got assignments that were modified slightly. It still sucked.

Information on the Joker was frustratingly hard to come by, apparently. At least the few times I saw Uncle Richard, he was practically gnashing his teeth over the little they'd been able to discover. Old, run-down warehouses, safe haven for criminals for centuries, simply didn't exist anymore with the need for land so critical and every building had to have a purpose and be used. The development needed to accommodate the Returned and the baby boom that followed that significant event also really cut into previously undeveloped land, so the caves that the Joker had hung out in the first time were no longer viable. Grandpa Bruce had visited Poison Ivy, who was depressed that Harley had dumped her for the Joker and took out her heartbreak out on Batman. She wasn't a good source of information beyond her account of how Harley had been overwhelmed by the Joker's reappearance. She'd gushed about it to Ivy, then packed up her things and skedaddled. She had mentioned that she was looking forward to having a 'real family' with 'Mr J', which was why Ivy'd warned Jinx out of spite.

The thought of the damage those two could do to Jinx curdled my blood. I'd say it turned my hair white, but I was pressured to abandon my beautiful hair colors and resume a standard shade. I didn't see the point because it wasn't like my picture wasn't in the yearbook, people knew what I looked like, but Dad put his foot down, saying it made me an easily tracked target in a crowd. I still refused, but they brought in Uncle Tony, who said it would just be for the short term, and I caved. I couldn't help crying in the chair, although I reassured Gina that it had nothing to do with her talent. It just felt like all my hard-won advances were being covered up under a layer of brown dye. And house arrest. I did insist on not going back to mouse-brown, at least. I went with a darker brown that looked somewhat nicer. Dad had also pressed me to cut it, but I even refused when Uncle Tony asked. Dad made some noises about having it done anyway.

"Shame on you for even thinking about that," I said in a hard voice. "I can hold a grudge for a long time, and I have to give up enough as it is due to circumstances that I have no control over and that shouldn't involve me at all. I will end my cooperation if you even attempt to do that."

"Lys, somebody can grab your hair when it's long like that," Uncle Tony tried. "And it'll grow back."

"I said no," I snapped. "It'll take years to get it back to this length. I'm tired of having my life fucked up by quote unquote grownups who can't get their shit together. If Grandma Alex had just killed him cleanly rather than just hoping he'd die a painful death, none of this would be happening. His name wasn't on any prisoner list or list of verified dead, so you'd have thought people would have kept an eye out, but no. Medicine still can't heal a severed spine, so where was he getting the medical care? Has anybody been checking out possible hideouts for handicapped accessible features? He is one asshole with a bunch of minions and a mentally disturbed squeeze. Why can't any of you find him?"

"Watch your language, young lady," Dad said sternly.

"Why should I? You're doing a fantastic job," I said sarcastically. So I was grounded and sent up to my room. I'd asked how I could possibly be grounded since I was stuck in the house, and Dad had cut out rowing and tennis for a week. He'd wanted to do that anyway, not feeling like the clubs had enough security, and I'd handed him a reason. Dammit.

But at least my hair remained uncut.

I really missed my time training in the tanks; rowing was mentally calming as well as a whole-body exercise, and I'd been making really good strides on my start. John was forthright, telling me to hang on to my temper better. "You were the one chiding me about punching people," he pointed out one evening when we were doing homework in my room.

"I didn't hit anybody," I retorted.

"What would it hurt to go along and take a little off?" he asked. "It will grow back, and you've got inches to spare."

"You missed out on a lot when you were at Eton," I said after a moment when I wrestled my temper down. "I soft pedaled a lot. You know that I was pretty much a pushover; I thought that I had to appease my friends because I wasn't interesting enough to have friends on my own. Subconsciously, I felt like I had to buy their friendship." Yay, therapy. I went on to give details about the unvarnished fallout from my Toxic sixTeen party, what it had done to me. "So I was splat flat on rock bottom and anything I've achieved since then has been a big accomplishment. Then my ankle was broken. Did I ever tell you that there's forty seven pins in my ankle? Almost fifty pins holding about a five inch section of my tibia, fibula, and talus together. Four muscles were shredded, along with a bunch of ligaments. I can't dance anymore, and I miss that every damned day, the artistry, the expression, the athleticism, performance, practice, perfecting my expression. That part of the audience attention was for me. i was going to be the Sugar Plum Fairy, did I say? The costumes would have been magnificent, and it's a role I always wanted to dance. I wanted to try dancing professionally, even if I wasn't as good as Miles, who is? I like rowing and tennis a lot, but they're brute force sports. It took months where I couldn't even wiggle my toes to heal and I'm still not completely back to the strength that I had, more than a year ago. My flexibility has been permanently damaged from the way they stuck the soft tissues back together. And all that was just because somebody wanted money from my parents, it was nothing that I did. I've got friends now who aren't looking at me for what I can buy, a job that I love, hobbies, activities, and now all that's threatened because my grandmother didn't finish one simple thing before I was even born. Deri has more freedom than I do, because Alan takes her and Van to their activities and Alan has a lot of skills. I can't even control the way I look anymore, not completely. And that's a real problem. I finally got to a place where I liked the way I looked, comfortable in my body, finally come to grips with losing ballet, and now that's been compromised for an indefinite period of time. I'm stuck out here, and while this is a nice place, it's still confinement, again for an indefinite amount of time. I'm really tired of all the restrictions. And my parents are walking back from their agreement to let me do short courses at UAL again this summer."

"Come on, Lys," he said impatiently. "I get that it's been hard for you. Your parents are just trying to keep you safe. I know that Ms Alex regrets what's happened, that it's affecting you." I bit my tongue hard to keep my retort in. It pissed me off that he passed off everything that had happened to me as 'hard.' So Grandma Alex 'regretted' what happened. Why wasn't she doing something about it? She'd just left the country to check on a project in Turkey, and she hadn't even taken a body guard. She was always armed, but I also knew that she wasn't as in practice with her martial arts as she used to be. I turned my attention to my textbook instead of replying, and after a moment, John went back to work too. He didn't hang out after we were finished studying, and I didn't ask him to. I waited awhile, then went out the window to my spot on the roof. It took quite a long time, but eventually the stars soothed me enough that my mind could empty and I relaxed. The stars were crisp in the night, and out of habit I named the constellations I saw, recalling their myths as the Amazons had taught them to me. I didn't go in until I was freezing and had to blow on my fingers to warm them enough to climb back down.


	5. Effectively grounded

So I went back to roaming the estate when it got claustrophobic in the house. Dad did question this, but I pointed out that if the estate wasn't safe, why was I confined here? He didn't like my answer, but there was a lot that each of us didn't like about the other these days. And Mom had to go out of the country on a Justice League assignment, so I didn't even have her voice in support. She thought it was better for me to do something active rather than sit around and 'mope' as she put it. I had to keep refusing dates, and now nobody was asking anymore. I hadn't been able to truthfully explain why I couldn't go out, so I'd said that I was grounded indefinitely due to a fight. "That must have been a heck of a fight," Craig Benson said. It really broke my heart to have to turn him down, because I had a crush on him.

"I can't even talk to my dad these days without something flaring up," I said ruefully, and he'd said that was too bad. My other friends were starting to resume their activities, and Jinx's parents were considering going back to a more normal life. And I was stuck at home, school, or work. I was allowed to go back to rowing because the club building was a solid brick building, more secure, but the tennis club I could go to for indoor tennis was sort of an inflatable dome, very insecure. I couldn't go out for lunch or snacks at work anymore, either. I had to pack my lunch when I worked my full day on the weekend and bring snacks. The only time I was exposed to daylight for an extended period was when I was ambling around the estate. I was probably going to end up with a vitamin D deficiency.

I might not be happy, but I kept a lid on it at school; school was going well for me and I didn't want to mess that up in any way. Dad had made me talk to Dr Lance again, who validated my feelings but urged me to be patient and remember that this was for my protection. So.... not much help there, not that I'd expected much. Meanwhile, everybody else was getting on with their lives and I was stuck watching everything pass me by. Again. Things with John were strained too because nobody thought he was in danger and he got to go on dates, run around the city, work, whatever, and I resented it.

One afternoon, I was pushing through the snow on part of the northeast part of the estate I'd never spent much time on, because there wasn't anything out there. Or not much; there was a big clear place with two hut-type buildings and some markers. I investigated further and found boundaries in the ground, now somewhat pushed out of the ground at some points, misaligned in other places, in the form of a hemisphere, one boundary within another. In the huts I found matched gizmos that puzzled me, so I did an image search, and that was how I learned we had a skeet shooting range on the premises. The designs on the ground were the trap field, the gizmos were trap machines, and the huts were trap houses. The machines were old models, but tightly covered and well protected. I found instructions online and to my surprise they still worked. I located the position where the shooter would stand and found the device that a solo person could practice with by using voice commands. It was disconnected, but the parts were all in the trap houses. I took the time to do some research; it was a concentration sport, needing a lot of practice, as any sport does. The next day after school I went down to the bat cave; there was a top-flight simulator down there that could present almost any situation a person could think of. Getting it to simulate a skeet shooting range was a piece of cake and it taught me gun safety as a shotgun replica emerged from the 3D printer. The basics of skeet were easy enough to learn, it was putting them into practice and becoming proficient that was the hard part. Encouraged, I searched the attic. If there was a gun safe in the house, it would be up there.

And I found it, past the climate-controlled art storage and a bunch of rolled-up rugs that I'd missed somehow. It was locked, but the combination to the very old-fashioned safe was on the back page of a binder on top of the safe that detailed the contents of the safe. Sure enough, included were two double-barrelled shotguns "for skeet" as some very precise soul had noted. I carefully turned the dial, having to do it a few times after messing up, and quickly matched up each gun to the inventory. Everything was there, including ammunition for the rifles and shotgun shells and hearing protection. I took out a shotgun gingerly; it was heavier than the 3D printed model, of course, but had been put away clean and in good working order, as far as I could tell. I'd need to research how to take care of the weapons if I decided to actually try skeet. The next time I was in the bat cave after school, I took a shotgun down with me and the simulator talked me through the loading process (and I promptly unloaded it) and it had me mount a laser in the barrel so I could practice using the sights. I waffled for a few days, then decided to try the real thing.

I rebelled and stopped by a sporting goods store on the way home to pick up a gun-cleaning kit and a supply of clay targets that would be flung into the air for me to try to hit. The box was pretty heavy. It took awhile and a bit of fiddling to get the voice-activated trigger working, but I felt good that I was able to figure it out. Then I loaded the targets into the launcher and gave it a go.

Lots to learn. I hit one out of ten targets the first time.

I broke the shotgun open and put it over my arm as I ventured into the field to find the unbroken targets. They weren't horribly expensive, but there wasn't any point to wasting them. It was easy to find them in the snow; they were in one of two general areas depending on which device flung them, and it was random. I disengaged one device and set the other to work at only one angle until I got the hang of shooting; using both just frazzled me and I wanted to be calm and accurate. I brushed off the snow from the undamaged discs and reloaded before taking my position again. I was going to need more shells, too. There had only been thirty in the gun safe.

I was feeling good; I'd clipped three targets out of ten using just the one launcher. I heard noise behind me and turned quickly, relaxing when I saw it was Alfred. I broke the shotgun open again and walked forward. "I heard the sounds of gunfire," he said. "I was concerned." He looked around. "I had completely forgotten the skeet range was here."

"I just ran across it recently, took me some research to figure out what it was," I said. Alfred's eyebrows elevated a couple of millimeters.

"You're doing quite well for a beginner, Miss Lys," he said.

"I did some sims in the bat cave," I said. "Then I looked to see if we still had any shotguns around, found the gun safe in the attic. It gives me something to do." But I was about out of time for the day; the sun was lowering and there weren't any lights out here.

"I understand that you feel boxed in by recent events," he said, taking the shotgun from me as I turned to pick up the box of shells; I'd tidily put the empties back in the box as I shot to help with cleanup. Then I went to the launchers, unplugging them again and covering them back up, pushing the box of targets back on the little table so they wouldn't fall off.

"I'm only young now," I said, unable to keep all the bitterness out of my voice. "I can't count on a resurrection down the line. And life keeps passing me by."

"They're trying to keep you safe," he said quietly.

"And nobody's any closer to finding the Joker. For gods' sake, he's handicapped. There's a huge number of places that can be eliminated from searching just because they haven't been modified to make them accessible for those with disabilities. Chairs are the most common transportation because to use an exoskeleton, you still need a certain degree of independent movement, which he can't have; Grandma Alex is positive that she completely severed his spine. She didn't stop to check, though. He could use a house that hasn't been modified if he's willing to have a minion carry him around all the time, but somehow I don't think he'd be willing to cede that much control over his body to someone else, especially an inferior, according to the stories that Grandma tells about him. You can sort through the city building permits office to see what existing structures are accessible. True, modifications can be made without permits, but construction is loud and neighbors don't hesitate to report things like that because renovations that aren't done properly can be dangerous. He can't be in a standard apartment or condo building because he'd need a private access. And a city inspector has to check each building before a sale. If there's been unpermitted work, you can't sell it. It has to be torn out and redone by a qualified professional, licensed with the city, the work permitted and inspected. Cuts down on shoddy workmanship and trouble down the road."

Alfred listened intently. That was novel, these days, an adult really listening to what I had to say. "These are excellent points," he said. "How do you know that about the city building office?"

"The cave," I said. "The computer was able to eliminate about two-thirds of the buildings in the city right off the bat, although there is a little room for error."

"I am unsure how the police are searching, but I will notify Master Dick with this information," he said. "No one credible has come forward having seen the Joker or Harley Quinn, and they may be failing to consider the mobility issue."

"If he's walking, it's literally a miracle of modern medicine," I said as we walked back in the direction of the house. At the mudroom door to the manor, he handed me the shotgun.

"Would you like me to clean this for you, Miss Lys?" he inquired.

"I appreciate the offer, but I got a kit when I got the targets," I said. He smiled and performed a quick inspection.

"It is not that I think you are untrustworthy or careless, but I don't know the butlers who presided here between my tenures," he murmured as he made sure the gun was ok. I smiled too; Alfred's standards were impeccable. "In good condition, Miss Lys. Does your high school have a skeet team?"

"I didn't know that was a thing," I said, taken aback. "I don't know. But if I can't go to tennis, my parents aren't going to let me stand in the middle of an unsecured field, gun or no." Alfred's smile faded.

"I see your point, Miss Lys," he said. "May I offer a different sort of diversion? I would be happy to teach you cooking and baking, if you would like, to assist your quest to be ready for college. Once you learn a few core techniques, you'll fine it easy to follow virtually any recipe." That caught my interest and I agreed immediately, thanking him at once. We agreed to a time and date after school, and he held the door for me. I thanked him again and went up to clean the gun before putting it back in the safe and going downstairs and cleaning up. I knew precisely how much of the cocktail hour I could neglect before Dad called me on it. I didn't have much to contribute these days and I was grateful that Deri carried the conversational load with Dad.

"How was school today, Lys?" he asked as I took my glass from Alan.

"Fine," I said briefly. Dad frowned.

"What did you do?"

"I went to first period and listened to a lecture on shooting crowd scenes, which I can't do. I got my sixth assignment shooting wildlife instead. Second period, another lecture. Third period, turned in homework, another lecture. Fourth period, got homework back, a 94. Lecture. Lunch, which was a veggie burger, wilted salad, steamed green beans. Lecture fifth period, sixth period, pop quiz and a lecture and and lecture seventh period. You wouldn't give me permission to attend the SAT prep class so I had to register for the online class." That was particularly infuriating, because it was at school, but the sessions were on weekends without any of the security officers on campus. He sighed.

"I know this is hard, Lys, but--"

"No. Physical therapy was hard. Calculus is hard. This is entirely different," I snapped.

"Lys is right, Dad," Deri said unexpectedly. "I think my life sucks and I get to do a lot more than Lys does. At least I get to do a lot of my after-school activities. You can't keep us cooped up forever while the police bungle around town."

"Girls, we are not going to have this conversation again," Dad said sternly. "This is for your protection. And the police aren't bungling anything. They're making good progress." He cleared his throat. "Mom will be back this Friday, and we have the Rockefeller wedding on Saturday." I wanted to snort. The only reason we were still getting to go was that security would be tight with so many civic leaders, politicians, ect in attendance. Still, it was something outside the estate and I was going to get to wear the beautiful blue dress Uncle Steve had made for me. Alan called us into dinner, which was mostly silent, and I had a cookie and a cup of decaf before pleading homework and going upstairs, Deri right behind me.


	6. Track and field

I was so glad to be able to get out of the house for an extended period of time that I was grateful to be going to the wedding. One of the Returned Rockefellers was getting remarried, and although he was a sexist jackass, I didn't even care. I was going to be able to get dressed up and actually socialize. There would be a good dinner, and even though the groom's son was as insufferable as he was, I'd even dance with him just for the sheer joy of getting to go someplace on a Saturday night again. I did scrape my hair back into a low chignon so that I wouldn't have to look at it. My old color would have looked smashing with the dress. The dress itself was gorgeous and I felt like a million bucks it it and the dainty shoes that went with it. The modest diamonds sparkled, I had the beautiful coat to wear, along with a pretty clutch, and I really enjoyed getting ready. I helped Deri with her hair, curling it and fluffing it out. The wedding ceremony was beautiful although a bit long, and as soon as the dinner was over, the vast acreage of cake cut and distributed, I pried myself free of my clingy parents and danced with anybody who asked. I was so starved for fun that I even chatted and danced with my former bullies. I felt like I wasn't sticking to my principles because they'd never apologized, but I didn't care much. And my life would be intersecting theirs in the future due to our families, so maybe it was time to be the bigger person. Or so I rationalized.

Conversation was light on the way home; we remarked about the lovely service, the tasty dinner, the band; even the cake had been pretty good. "I saw you dancing with Rick Henshaw," Mom said, frowning. "Wasn't he one of the ringleaders of the bullies at your old school? Did he apologize for his conduct?"

"Yes and no," I said.

"Lysippe, he owes you an apology," she said firmly. "You should not be rewarding their treatment of you."

"That reception was stuffed full of people I shouldn't speak to, then," I said tensely. "Nobody's apologized, and I'm damned if I'm going to miss out on the only social activity I've been allowed for months."

"You're exaggerating," Dad said, unwisely.

"I'm not," I snapped. "Since the Joker resurfaced, I can row, I can go to work, I can go to school. That's it. I can't go on dates, I can't hang out with my friends unless they come out, I couldn't even go to the Winter semiformal dance at school. So excuse me for not wanting to sit on the sidelines waiting for apologies that are never going to come when I could have the most fun I've had in weeks."

"I don't see your friends very much," Dad said, glossing over the content of what I'd said, just like he did before therapy when he didn't want to acknowledge that I had something valid to say that he didn't want to hear.

"They get to go about their lives," I said bitterly. "They can go to movies and have ice cream and hot chocolate and go window shopping and do their hobbies and go on dates and go to work. Even Jinx is back in school and doing things on his own."

"Lys, it's not unreasonable for us to want you to be safe..." Dad started off on his usual stale speech, and I tuned him out, looking out the window. I didn't pay attention again until Deri touched my arm.

"What?" I asked.

"Have you been listening to what I'm saying?" Dad asked in exasperation.

"Did you say anything new?" He turned red. "I'll take that as a no, then. Why should I listen to the same old tired justifications?" The pod pulled up at the mansion and I hopped out the instant it came to a complete stop.

"Daniel, no," I heard Mom say, and Deri hurried to catch up.

"Did they really let Jinx out?" Deri said as we went upstairs.

"Yeah, he's got a panic button but that's about it."

"Unreal," she said as we went down the hall. "And we're still cooped up here? That really isn't fair." I just shook my head and we parted ways at our bedrooms. I admired the coat and dress again briefly and examined both to make sure that there wasn't any damage. The coat was perfect, but I'd sweated while dancing and it would have to be cleaned before I could put it away. The shoes were a real disappointment, showing wear where the top part tucked between the sole and the insole, and the heels were even run down. After only one night! So much for quality.

Then I buckled down to study for finals, and when that was over, picked up a couple of extra shifts at work. They weren't easy to come by, most people wanted the extra money. I was just desperate to be out of the house. I went by the sporting goods store on the way home one night and stocked up on clay targets and shotgun shells; I spent most of my time on the estate shooting when there was light, learning cooking from Alfred (he was right about the cooking skills, easy to learn, going to take some time and practice to perfect, especially the knife skills), and up in my sewing room during the evening. I'd bought a couple of patterns and was modifying them to make some unique blouses and a couple of shirt dresses. It wasn't easy, I felt like I had a headache a lot which was distracting. I took to lifting weights at night a couple hours before bedtime to let off some tension, and there was rowing first thing in the morning, at least.

Christmas came at last; I'd had to buy all my presents online and have them shipped. I resented not being able to go to the stores and browse, enjoying the sights and sounds of the holiday. The presents were generic, something anybody could have gotten, and not up to my usual standards. I didn't care much aside from for Deri's present; I'd have liked to done better for her, but at least it was unique, a white blouse she could wear with her uniform that had white embroidery between the buttonholes and on the cuffs, which wasn't strictly against the school rules, mainly because they were silent about decoration that wasn't contrasting. The dress code just said that the shirts had to be button-front and white, no colors allowed. Opening the presents was quieter than usual, and while they were nice, I just wasn't feeling the Christmas spirit. I took my stuff up afterward and stayed in my room until it was time for our guests to show up. Aunt Amy was the first to arrive, and I didn't want to let go from the hug; she'd been on a work exchange in Germany where she'd learned about managing forests in a program that had been successful for centuries. She showed up with Grandpa Mark, a surprise guest since he'd been working on a product launch in the Philippines and had said he wouldn't be back in time. There wasn't much time to chat, though, as uncles and aunts and grandparents and cousins also started coming in waves. I hadn't seen Miles and Iris for months.

"What happened to your hair, Lys?" Iris asked, surprised.

"Dad pressured me into coloring it so it's not so distinctive," I said. "I refused to cut it, though."

"Why would you cut it?" she asked blankly.

"He and Uncle Tony said it would be easier for somebody to grab." She rolled her eyes.

"That's ridiculous. I'm glad you refused. You have pretty hair." Then there were other relatives to greet, there was the really nice surprise that Dari and Z had come home for Christmas at last, and I played at being a good host until Alan and Alfred announced dinner.

"What have you been doing on vacation, honey?" Grandpa Damian asked after we'd been seated. "I haven't seen you for quite awhile."

"I get to row for an hour, six days a week," I said precisely, adding some Waldorf salad to my plate and passing the bowl to him. "I go to school when it's in session, and I get to go to work all day either Saturday or Sunday, and I have two four hour shifts twice a week. Otherwise I'm here."

"Wait, what?" Grandpa Mark said, pausing as he was forking stuffed pork roast onto his plate. "What about your tennis? When do you do things with your friends?"

"I can't go play tennis, the club that has indoor facilities is just an inflatable dome over outside courts, and Mom and Dad think it's not safe enough. I don't get to do anything with my friends unless they come out here."

"What do you do all day, then?" Grandpa Damian asked.

"I have to take SAT prep online because there's no security at the school during the physical class, so there's that. And I'm sewing. Lifting weights. And there's a skeet range."

"I'd forgotten about that," Grandpa Mark said. "But why don't your friends come out the way they used to?"

"Because they're allowed to do things," I said, resentment coloring my voice. "Even Jinx is back to school, back at work. They're busy. They have jobs. They can go out on dates, they can go to movies and just hang out." Grandpa Mark frowned. Grandpa Damian didn't say anything.

And that was the last I really said during dinner. My attitude put a bit of a damper on the table's conversation, and the others spoke about current events, mostly. I felt a little bad that I wasn't being a more considerate host, but I was angry all the time and I just didn't have it in me to exert myself. It was partly Grandpa Damian's fault that I was in this situation to begin with, the Joker was a Batman problem and none of them had fixed it.

Dessert was a croquembouche for each table draped in golden caramel floss and small chocolate eclairs. The desserts cheered me up slightly and I circulated among the guests afterward until they headed for home. It never took long; everybody always wanted to digest in the comfort of their own homes where they could just sit pretty much in a stupor until the food coma wore off. I liked to do that too, and even the presence of my favorite cousins didn't change my mind, really. After the door closed on the last of the group, I headed upstairs for knit clothes with a lot more give in them. I'd changed into a black sweatshirt and yoga pants with thick warm socks and was contemplating a climb out the window--maybe not, though, I didn't have the focus I felt I needed to climb to the roof--when the computer chimed. "Miss Lys, Miss Deri requests that you meet her quietly in the kitchen," it said.

"Ok," I said, and padded out the door and down the back stairs. Deri was standing in the dark kitchen and held her finger to her lips. I nodded, and followed her into the butler's pantry, where she carefully opened the door to the library.

"--can't keep them prisoners here indefinitely," Aunt Amy said flatly.

"Lys especially has had a hard enough time the past year or two," Grandpa Mark said. "She's finally found her place at school and activities that she can do and is good at, and you're deliberately preventing her from doing them."

"The girls aren't prisoners, they're just restricted here when they're not in safe places. It's for her own good, Dad," Dad said stubbornly.

"Is it, though?" Grandpa asked. "She said that even the Joker's son is back at school, out of hiding, resuming his life. Why is Lys still shut up here? It really isn't fair. And your decisions seem arbitrary to her. She's extremely resentful."

"Don't I just know it," Dad muttered. Then we heard something in the hall, and I closed the door carefully; we ducked around the shelf to press against the wall. The person continued on down the hall without breaking step or hesitating at the door, and when we heard the footsteps go into the library, we opened the door again.

"--why Deri gets to do most of her activities and Lys does not?" Grandpa asked.

"Because Alan has to drive Deri and he can only be in one place at a time," Mom said, settling on the sofa with Dad. "Lys has her pod, which can protect her quite well on the road, but it can't do anything when she's indoors someplace. Work is risky enough."

"Let me ask you this," Aunt Amy said. "Has anybody seen the Joker at all, have there been any credible leads?"

"No, and it's very frustrating," Dad said.

"Have you considered that maybe he isn't back at all? The only evidence you have is what Ivy said. Have you considered that Harley might have dumped her and this is Ivy's method of payback? It puts heat on Harley, police attention, and as an added bonus, she knows that this kind of news is going to be disruptive for both the police and the costumed crime fighters. It interferes with Harley's relationship with her son." There was dead silence in the library and I looked over at my little sister; her eyes were practically popping out of her head. Mine too. I knew that I'd never thought that.

"No. I had not considered that at all," Dad said shortly after quite a pregnant pause.

"Then talk it over with Dick," Grandpa said. "If this is just a hoax, it's cruel to keep the girls isolated out here."

"We shall do that," Mom said. "I would love to have my happy daughters back. Lys will barely speak with us and Deri does only because the silence is deafening otherwise."

"Even if the Joker's reappearance can't be ruled out a hundred percent, absent a clearly defined threat, you need to let Lys get back to normal, son." Grandpa said, and his tone was definitely judgey. "You overreacted, and I don't understand why you won't talk with your daughters and listen to what they have to say. I did my best to ask questions and listen to you, especially after your mom died. And you shouldn't have pressured her to change her hair. It's important for kids her age to be able to express themselves, and you've closed off most of the avenues she has for self-expression. She still refuses to go back on social media, she can't pursue her photography, her passion now that ballet's off the table, you won't let her play tennis, you limit her time at the rowing club, and I understand--not from Lys--that it's doubtful that she can take the summer classes you promised she could. Deri's worried that she can't go to camp this summer. She'd like to try out for the track team this spring and dreads asking for permission. She's already worried about next school year, too; starting high school is stressful enough without worrying about whether she'll be allowed to fully participate."

"Has Lys talked to Dinah lately?" Aunt Amy said. "I'm worried about her. She's so angry and she doesn't really seem to have a way of dealing with it."

"Lys did talk to Dinah, but it wasn't productive; Lys didn't get the response she wanted, which was that we were being overly protective," Dad said, and I scowled. Deri took my hand silently.

"Did Dinah help her find outlets for her emotions, constructive ways to deal with the pressure, or did she think Lys was overreacting too?" Aunt Amy pressed sharply. The silence spoke volumes. "Damn it, Dan, I really thought you were making progress after your family therapy. You're back to not hearing what doesn't suit you. If you don't want to drive Lys away, you need to buck up. You're not Batman anymore, the one with all the answers. You have to consider what your kids are going through and how to help them. Because I will tell you this, I didn't come back until I was sure my parents weren't around. If they had been, I'd still be in the Pacific Northwest and nobody the wiser about my existence. Well, I would have contacted Marky-Mark eventually." Through the door I could see Grandpa smile at his sister and pat her shoulder. "My parents' attitudes and expectations and inflexibility ensured that at the end, I didn't love them, let alone like them. The girls have already refused to return to Themyscira. If you don't want your kids to stay at least a continent away from you when they're on their own, you'd better straighten up."

"Dammit, Amy--" Dad snapped, and Deri carefully closed the door and we crept out, back up the stairs. I'd heard a lot more than I'd expected to. It was kind of infuriating that my parents wouldn't listen to me, but they'd pay attention to other adults. But I was deeply grateful that there were adults who were willing to go to bat for me and Deri.

"So what do you want to try out for?" I asked Deri curiously as we walked down the hall to our rooms.

"I'm thinking longer distances, I'm not really a sprinter," she said. "Maybe something that I could get on a relay team."

"What about javelin?" I asked. "You were good at that on the island."

"You think so?" she said, perking up.

"Yeah, General Antiope said so," I said, and followed her into her room. We went onto her school's website to the team pages and looked at the offerings. They had races from 100 to 1500 meters, two hurdles, high jump, pole vault, javelin, shot put, hammer, discus, long jump, and triple jump. My sister did have have gifts that the Amazons valued a lot, and I was sure that she could draw on that early training to be successful in middle school track and field. And with experience she could also try out in high school, more confident with success. And Van wanted to try out for shorter distance races, the sprints, so this was something they could both do but not compete head to head in.

I hadn't actually talked to my sister in awhile, I realized. She was looking forward to high school. As far as I knew, she was going to go to my old prep school, and why not? Not to be snarky, but everybody loved her. She was really popular and my disgrace had barely brushed her. She'd do well there, getting a fitting education for the next head of Wayne Enterprises. "I thought about asking if I could go to a different school too," she said, not looking at me. "Would you mind if I was at your school next year? It sounds like so much fun."

I thought about it. I'd be a senior, she'd be a freshman, it was unlikely that we'd have any classes together, and I had my friends, she'd find her own. And even if she was as popular as she probably would be, I'd only be overshadowed for part of the year. Even Deri needed time to get traction. "It is fun," I said. "I like it a lot better than prep school. Why not?" I grinned. "You just want to ditch the uniform, anyway."

"It's not just that," she protested, and we both laughed. It had been a long time since I'd found anything funny enough to laugh at.


	7. Achievement unlocked

I got up fairly early the next morning, around eight, had a quick breakfast, then went out to shoot skeet. Somehow Alfred had found the time to straighten up the field, making the seven stations on the hemisphere and the eighth station on the base cord distinct and even. I was still using just one trap, but I was getting pretty good at it and I felt I was about ready to try the second trap, which was set at a different angle, get used to that one, then start to follow the shooting order mandated by the rules of the game. I didn't want to compete, I just wanted something to concentrate on and get good at. Once I figured out how much lead I needed, the shooting had gotten a lot easier, but I wanted to improve my muscle memory. I shot at all eight stations, two clays per station to warm up, and hit all sixteen targets. I went over and loaded the other trap and trudged to the first station; I'd put an extra target in to see where the trap would fling it. I missed the first one, but improved as I went along; the higher trajectory and the new direction took some getting used to. I was surprised when I reloaded the trap and walked back to the first station to notice my father standing well back. I grudgingly pulled off my hearing protection to go talk to him.

"I didn't know where you were," he said when I got about five feet away from him and stopped, shotgun broken open over my arm. "But Alfred was in the butler's pantry helping Alan put the china, crystal, and silver away and mentioned you might be out here. I didn't know we had a skeet shooting... thing."

"I ran across it earlier," I said briefly. "It's interesting. Geometry at work."

"Where did you find the gun?"

"Gun safe in the attic. There are two of them, Purdey over-under double-barrel shotguns, skeet chokes, number nine shot, twelve gauge. I got gun cleaning supplies to maintain them."

"Didn't know we had a gun safe, either," he muttered. "Look, Lys, I don't know--"

"If you say you don't know if you like the idea of me shooting a shotgun, I'm going to scream," I said flatly. "I'm still on the estate, I know how to handle the guns safely, and it gives me something to do. It's a past time and one that I seem to be pretty good at. I'm not hunting animals, and I'm careful. I pick up after myself, and the targets are designed to break down into limestone and some other harmless stuff after about a year of weathering. I pick up the shell casings and if you insist, I'll get a big old magnet and clean up the steel shot as much as I can."

"That won't be necessary," he said, rubbing his temple.

"Then what's the problem here? What do you want from me? 'Don't do this, I don't like you doing that,' what's left to me? Sitting up in my room all day? I'm tired of doing nothing, trapped in the house while everybody else gets to go about their daily activities."

"I get it, Lys, and I'm going to get in touch with Dick to find out how the case is progressing. If there's been no progress, we can talk about lightening up the restrictions."

"Removing the restrictions," I said. "I'm done with being stuck here."

"I'll talk to Dick," he repeated. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let us know where you're going to be, though."

"I'm on the estate. I have my communicator. If you want to know more, you can always call," I said, angry again. I pushed two shells into the barrels, pivoted, and walked back to the first station, putting on the hearing protection and activating the mike for the trap. I closed the gun with the reverence due to the fine craftsmanship, said "pull!" firmly and clearly, and went back to shooting.

I shot til around noon, then reluctantly went back to the house when I was just too cold to stay out longer. I cleaned the gun, locked it up, then went down to the kitchen, where I made myself a sandwich, put carrot sticks on the plate, and grabbed an apple. I took it all up to my room and ate sitting in the window seat. A cold front was coming in with what promised to be a good storm, so I finished my lunch quickly, vacuumed up the crumbs, and took the remains to the kitchen, putting the apple core for compost and the dishes in the dishwasher before heading out back. There was a decent wood pile in my room, but I wanted to be sure there would be enough for a fire all day and into the night. I took an armful of appropriately-sized logs and went inside, using the elevator since the wood was heavy. I put the wood on the end of the hearth, took a shower to chase the last chill from my bones and wash off the gunpowder residue, then put my hair in a French braid and lit the fire. My ankle ached whenever a storm came in, but keeping it warm helped a little. I was studying for the SATs when there was a knock on the door. I yelled and grinned, jumping up when Z and Dari came in.

"I didn't know you guys were going to be here," I said, giving and getting hugs. "Congratulations on your graduation from prep school, Z." I offered them the comfy chairs by the fireplace and swung my desk chair around as they settled in.

"I got your card," she said in her lovely musical voice. "It was great, and I appreciated the thought, especially with things so unsettled here."

"It's not too late to decide to be a butler, Z," Dari said, poking his sister, who swatted his hand away. "Listen to yourself, 'things so unsettled here.' Typical butlerian understatement." I laughed and asked him how the Sorbonne was. "Interesting, but I found quickly that classroom conversation is one thing, using a foreign language day in and day out is another. I had to record my lectures to be sure I understood everything the professors were saying."

"And what are you going to do, Z?"

"I'll be going to Cambridge, Fitzwilliam College. A guaranteed single room, in lovely gardens, with a lot of activities." she said with pleasure. "I can't wait to start."

"What are you majoring in?"

"Mathematics or history," she said in satisfaction. I groaned, and they laughed.

"Exactly," Dari agreed.

"Good maths teachers are always in demand," she said. "And frankly, it would be easy enough to change fields if I got bored in the classroom. Very versatile subject. But history is so interesting."

"I used to think you were ok," I said, and she chuckled.

"At least it's focused,' she said, jabbing at her brother. "That one is studying something called a multidisciplinary course."

"It's a good solid degree that gives me exposure to a lot of different subjects," he argued. "Dad wants to be sure he's got a replacement here when he retires, and for that you definitely need to know a lot about a lot of different things. What about you, Lys? What are you looking at?"

"Photography. I really like it and I'm good at it."

"Yes," Z agreed. "I loved the copies you sent us of your work last summer, even if they were of John. " I laughed; they'd requested the photographs I'd given to their parents. "What else have you done?" So I brought out my portfolio and had a small chance to brag a little. They exclaimed over my work and that felt good, especially when they asked for prints. I made notes of which ones they wanted, but printing them would have to wait until school started again.

"So what's up with John?" Dari asked. "Things were going well at Eton, I understand why he punched the boy out and why he was expelled, and frankly I think it's good for him to be back with our parents. I didn't like him on his own; at least Z and I were in the same city and with family, but he wanted to be someplace different. Competitive little brat. What I don't understand is why you're not in each other's pockets again. Well, things have changed, you've both got your own interests and all, but still."

"We had a disagreement about my captivity," I said. "Neither of us wanted a fight, but that created distance."

"John would be in a straightjacket if Dad cooped him up," Z said critically. "He's such a boy. He remembers you as a dainty girl, and nobody thinks how strong dancers have to be. He and Miles are pals, you think he'd know better."

"Hey," Dari objected. "Not all boys are idiots." I smiled. "And Lys used to be a lot more compliant. But Dad said Mr Bucky was satisfied with your self-defense, so it's puzzling that you're being treated like you're helpless."

"Perhaps it's understandable, however," Z said slowly. "Lys had her leg crushed. I bet Mr Daniel and Ms Diana wish to keep her from that kind of hurt again. And it could have been worse if the kidnapping succeeded."

"All it does is make me angry," I said. "They can't keep me here forever, though."

"No, but that explains a lot. John is at a loss; he probably thinks that too much time has passed for an apology and he doesn't know how to approach it," Dari said. "Dumbass."

"You weren't always gifted with wisdom either," Z protested, although she was laughing. "I'd argue that you still aren't." And that brought on a spat of bickering that made me smile; it reminded me a lot of Deri and me.

"We saw Iris and Miles' apartments," Z said, changing the subject. "I'm surprised you don't want to do interior design. You're really good at that too."

"I liked it, but at the same time, you have to listen to the clients," I said. "They insist on having opinions, and I want to do what I want to do." They burst out laughing. "It was easier with Iris, she specified the colors, took my advice. Miles had colors he wanted, but the style of furniture he likes is way too ornate and heavy for the small place he's got. It would have been awful if he'd gotten his own way on everything. I'd help somebody out again, no problem, but I don't want that to be my life. When I'm behind the shutter, I'm the boss. I capture the images that I choose. Uncle Steve is giving me backstage access and a place on the runway to shoot his collection at Fashion Week in February, and I provided some images for a model's portfolio," I explained. "People actually paid me. So it's not just wishful thinking that I could make a go of a career in photography."

We chatted for a couple hours until they had to leave to get ready; their parents were taking the whole family out to dinner and the symphony. I spent the evening reading in the window seat, watching the snow fall and enjoying the fire.

Mercifully, I had a full shift the next day, and I made the most of it, happy to be around a lot of people, helping and being useful. We'd gotten a shipment in that I was pleased to help check in and put out. I also defied orders and went down to the deli to pick up some lunch. Jinx wasn't working that day or we'd have eaten together, so I just took it back to the break room.

When I got home, everybody was out; Mom had gone in to work to make up for the time she'd spent away on League business and Dad had taken Van and Deri to a movie, sitting a few rows behind them for safety. It made me laugh, it was a movie aimed at young teen girls with a plot that was light and frivolous, a funny look at a day at school where everything possible went completely perfect, and how weird that would be. Served him right.

All in all, I was in a decent mood; I'd picked up a couple new issues of sewing magazines at work that previewed spring clothes, which meant that in a month we'd start getting the new fabrics. I couldn't wait; I wanted to make some bright, cheerful dresses for spring. I asked Deri how she liked the movie and she was enthusiastic about the main actress, a starlet on the rise who was noted for her sense of humor. This got us through to dinner, where Mom said that she'd heard from Uncle Richard, who had talked to Captain Gordon about the progression of the Joker case. They were downgrading the investigation because there wasn't a shred of evidence beyond Ivy's communications to Jinx and later, her interview, that supported the return of the notorious crime boss. "It can't be completely be ruled out," she said, buttering a roll. "But there seems to be no need for all of the restrictions on you girls. We expect that you'll continue to be careful, but there's no reason why you can't pick up all your activities. You can go back to tennis and doing things with your friends, Lys." Deri and I high-fived and whooped, ignoring Dad, who looked vexed. Apparently there hadn't been communication between the parents on this bit of news.

"That's excellent news," I said, relieved beyond measure. "I can't wait to get back on the court. I'm thinking about trying out for the tennis team this spring and I need a lot more practice."

"That would look good on your college applications," Dad said thoughtfully. Diversion successful; with luck, he'd think again before trying to walk back from Mom's permission. But it wasn't a lie, I really had been considering it. Dessert and coffee was a lot more lively. Deri asked about how work had been and I told her about the magazines.

"If you'd like, you could pick an easy pattern for a dress, and when the spring fabrics start to come in, you could get some fabric and we could make it," I offered, and she beamed. I was in a great mood now and wanted to spread it around.

"I'm surprised that you want to try out for the tennis team," Dad said neutrally. "It's not something you've mentioned." I sharply bit back a response about how until about an hour ago I wouldn't have been allowed.

"Turns out that I've got the Wayne killer instinct after all," I said flippantly. "I like going out onto the court and trying to crush my opponent." Both parents looked startled. Deri grinned. "It's not like ballet or rowing, where you're trying to perfect your movement or push yourself to beat a time. With tennis, you're looking at your opponent and not only trying to beat her, you're trying to get her to make mistakes, get in her head, throw her off her game. I like it." It was the most socially approved way to get rid of aggressions that I had.

"I thought you liked the social aspect," Dad said.

"I do," I said cheerily. "I love shaking my opponent's hand over the net after a good game, and it's even better when you've made plans to socialize after the match and I've beaten the stuffing out of them. The last match I played was against Jilly St Honore" a chief tormentor back at prep school " and it was extremely satisfying to beat her fast in straight sets." She'd been pissed, too, that I'd stomped her. It added to the sweetness of my victory. Turns out that I learn really fast when properly motivated. A lot of times there wasn't anybody to play against at the club because I went at off hours, apparently, so I spent a lot of time with a teacher and a ball machine, learning from the first and using the second to build muscle memory to help with shot placement. I'd spent a lot of the funds I'd gotten from Deri's room on court fees and lessons. Well, not exclusively tennis, I'd paid for help at the rowing club too.

After coffee and victory cookies, I went upstairs, notified my friends about the change of status in a mass text, and asked what we were doing for New Years Eve.


	8. Fashion perspectives

Not surprisingly, plans for New Years Eve had not been firmed up, mostly because parents--and not just mine--were on the fence about possible activities--Times Square was right out, along with other big public venues--but also partly because we weren't eighteen yet. Once we reached our majority, the parties we could get into would be more fun. In the end, we decided to do the same thing we did last year, dinner and a movie. We wanted an excuse to dress up a little, decided on a price point that was good for everybody, and I volunteered to get reservations. My name would probably help out there, and I suspected that my friends were deferring to my dad's paranoia in suggesting the venues.

Dad still didn't like it, but I pointed out that we weren't going to actual parties and the choice of movie wouldn't be made until closer to the date. Mom asked about dinner and helped me refine my choice of restaurants, saying that she'd call for the reservation for me after our head count was final. Aces.

The only person who had a date was John, and he elected not to join the group because it would be weird to be the only one on a date, plus I figured he'd want a more traditional New Years Eve party to go to. I was going to enjoy the heck out of what we had planned, just for the freedom with most of my friends. And as a bonus, this year I wouldn't be on crutches. Until the celebration, I had a couple of shifts at work, but I took some time to meet my friends in the city and to spend more time at the rowing club. I also took some tennis lessons; I had a lot of ground to make up.

We ended up having a pretty great time, all in all. It wasn't as cold as originally predicted, always nice, and no storms coming in so my ankle didn't hurt. I wore black dress slacks with cute black suede booties, and a pretty sweater in gray with bright pink stripes along the bottom. And best of all, I'd gotten Gina to restore my hair color with white that shaded into rich violet. I felt so much better and much more festive. Dinner was delicious and we found out that Mom had paid for us when she'd made the reservation. We went to a comedy for the movie and were set to watch some fireworks afterward, but Mark slipped on some ice and went down hard, hurting his wrist and cutting his hand. Justine whipped out her communicator and found the nearest urgent care two blocks away, so we escorted him there and waited while he was treated. It turned out that he had a sprained wrist and ten stitches, and he came out with a brace on the wrist and a big white dressing on the palm of his hand.

"We're 0 for 2 on harmless New Years Eve celebrations," Justine said. "Next year we do something different, break the curse." We chuckled a little and made our way to the parking garage. Mark said he was fine, so we escorted him to his pod and saw him safely in before I called Bob.

The next morning I slept in a bit, then spent a couple hours at the rowing club. I was the only one there for quite a while, and I got over an hour in the tank. Rowing wasn't as relaxing as stargazing; I was still monitoring my movements, trying to do better, be faster, pull harder, but it did allow me to sort of empty my mind and I liked that a lot. Sometimes my mind was like a hamster wheel, always spinning, sometimes fruitlessly. I got home in time for lunch, and our parents gave Deri and me our traditional new books for New Years. We all spent the afternoon in the library reading. Alan had the day off to spend with his own family, and we ordered pizza for dinner.

Then there were a couple more days where all I had to do was a day at work, and I elected to play tennis one morning, picking up a couple of matches. I was still rusty and lost, but that would change with more practice. I was a lot happier when I went back to school. This year there wasn't any last-minute schedule changes, and I was taking the second semester of everything so my schedule was the same. For first semester shop, we'd made a really basic lamp (I'd pulled it apart at home and tossed the pine on the firewood pile) and a basic thing that could be used as a footstool or stepstool. I'd made mine from walnut, air dried rather than kiln dried, so it had a slightly purplish tinge to it. There was a scrap pile where you put your offcuts and you could use this wood in your projects; it was also there if a student was having a hard time affording the wood for a project. I found some holly in there and used a bit of that to create and inlay strings around the edge of the flat face for contrast, pinning it with square walnut pegs. It looked nice and was functional. This semester we had to build something that used either dovetails or finger joints and incorporated chip carving, which we would be learning. We had some time to think about it; we all needed more practice cutting joints and we needed to learn chip carving too. I elected to make a sort of desk box, divided in the middle, with the front cut about halfway down that I could use to store printed photographs. The full-size slot could hold the largest photographs and the shorter one smaller sizes. I was planning on a nice circular design for carving on the smaller front part, because I was competent in shop but not gifted. 

It was really good to get back to school, mainly because time away from the house was still awesome, even if it was classes. And truthfully, I didn't mind even the classes I didn't really care for, because at least I was learning new things even if I didn't see an immediate use for it (ahem*calculus*ahem) and everybody I knew aside from adults was there as well. I liked my teachers and the routine, and I was thrilled to get my first photography assignment that was just like everybody else's: attend a sporting event and shoot the game and crowd. The best shots would be sent to the school newspaper for possible publication. The first game back was boy's basketball, so I attended...along with everybody in the class. We grinned at each other and clicked away, but that didn't satisfy me even though I got good pictures. I went to the girl's basketball team practice the next day and shot that too. There wasn't the dynamicism of competition, but there were still some students who watched practice and in some ways practice really showed the teamwork more. The coaches were more involved, there was more variety of action, and nobody hogged the ball. Everybody got to shoot and use their skills, even the benchwarmers. Because I wasn't sure if a practice constituted a "sporting event" and not wanting to lose points because I interpreted the guidelines too loosely, I culled the best shots from the game and submitted them along with the best from the practice, which I thought were actually better.

The next day in class, we reviewed each other's work, and our teacher asked about why I shot the practice. "Well, we all were there at the game," everybody laughed, "and I wanted to show something different. The shots I took from the game aren't spectacular; Tina and Chuck got better photographs than I did. So if my goal was to get the shots published, I needed something better."

The teacher nodded. "And I sent the best of Tina and Chuck's work to the school paper. It's a good point you made about getting your work published. It's not enough to capture an event when there's competition. It has to be compelling, something unique about what you shot in order to be able to sell it, or at least get published in the school newspaper. Lys was forward-thinking and I sent some of her work to the girl's team if they want to use it somehow and also to the yearbook. All of you are technically proficient with your cameras; now, if you want to stand out, you need to improve the content of your images as well as thinking outside the box for ways to stand out. Lys had a good idea about shooting a practice, but at the game, she should have moved around, looking for better angles. She could have crowded Chuck and Tina, who were at the best positions." We looked taken aback. "Kids, I'm not saying you can trample other photographers, but you can jockey for position. There are a lot of people who want to make their living with their cameras and only so much work is purchased. If you're serious, you need to find your strengths and identify your weaknesses to correct them. And being afraid to be assertive is not a strength. Would you rather be the photographer who makes the prize-winning image or the one who didn't get in the action because of some notion of fair play? There are ethics and common sense in the profession, but you also have to be fairly aggressive." So that was something to think about.

We'd been back at school for a couple weeks when Uncle Steve started to really get into his preparations for Fashion Week. This year he had the best slot, the final show, and the prestigious location of Grand Central Station (well after rush hour) that would provide a beautiful backdrop for the show as well as tons of seating. I went to the venue a couple of times before the show when it was busy to capture the energy and motion of the place as it usually was, to provide a contrast to what would be a much more serene period of time. Uncle Steve wasn't one of those designers who felt he had to overwhelm the audience with a light show and booming music to enhance his collections; he always had nice music, the lighting was effective, but there was nothing of the sideshow to detract from his clothing. And he only allowed so many photographers, so the flashes weren't a big distraction. I really was privileged. I was lucky when I went to the train station for my 'before' shots; I actually saw some women wearing his pret-a-porter designs and asked them specially if I could take their pictures for my project. They all agreed and as was my habit, I sent them their images. I had an email account specifically for this purpose with a service that allowed big attachments specifically for photographers--law at flash.com. I also asked Uncle Steve if I could bring a couple of friends to the show who were interested, and he instantly gave me three passes--Imogen and Justine wanted to go, and Nix thought it would be fun too. They weren't the best seats, but nobody cared; it was enough to get to go.

I went over to his atelier the three afternoons before the show, observing the activity and the work of his fitters; the corrections were made and Uncle Steve approved or made further adjustments to the fit of each garment. It was fascinating to watch. It was such an intensely feminine atmosphere that sometimes it was jarring to see him there, directing all the activity. He did employ some men to help make the garments, but for the most part, it seemed that for men they were either at the top of the heap as designers or they didn't play. I wondered what it would be like for the reverse, a woman directing a staff of almost entirely men. Apparently sexism had pretty much vanished before the Return, but the old attitudes had come roaring back. There were industries where it didn't seem to matter much, as in science and business, but other areas had been turned into what I'd heard referred to as 'pink collar ghettos'--lower education where the teachers were almost all women, and 'traditional' work, like sewing. I wondered if Uncle Steve was consciously aware of the issue in a broader sense. He hired the best, the most able, which were women for the most part. Were there even opportunities for men in lower level fashion? Now that I was looking, the optics were weird. Yet the women who had time to talk all said that they loved their work and that it had taken a long time to master their skills. Were men not drawn to handwork, did they think it was beneath them, was there room in the industry for them? At the same time, just from my limited experience, I didn't think I'd like a male fitter.

I put my questions away and focused on the photography. Terrific shots surrounded me; it was harder to decide which ones to take rather than to find suitable ones. And it was really fun to see how the magnificent clothes were constructed. The clothes in the show were samples and not finished the way they'd be for customers, with linings missing for ease in making changes with the fitting to perfect them. Uncle Steve said that he started out with complete garments in the show, but he'd found it was a time waster. Unlike other designers, he never sold the samples. He had the original garments from every one of his professional shows in storage, a priceless collection. Grandma Alex had modeled for him during his student years and been allowed to keep those clothes, which she'd also put away after awhile so that they'd be in good condition when museums wanted to do retrospectives spanning his entire career in fashion. Every now and then his superhero costumes popped up in exhibits, but the feeling was that a working designer needed twenty to thirty years to really deserve retrospectives and he wasn't there yet.

Uncle Steve's work always seemed glamorous to me, even the pret-a-porter bringing a magic spark to a mundane day, but this collection seemed especially exciting. Unlike his last big collection, he didn't use prints, focusing instead on fit, shaping, and detail with folding, embroidery, beading, and fringe for embellishment when necessary. The look was stripped down, the clothes and the women wearing them working together to project a decided look. Even the floofy skirts of two of the dresses somehow managed to look trim and in control.

"What do you think, Lys?" My uncle's question startled me; I'd been hunkered to the side watching this extraordinary pageant.

"This looks more special than usual," I said after a moment of consideration.

"Why is that? I'm interested in hearing your opinion."

"Not one of the models looks anything but completely in control," I said. "You don't want to mess with them. They're gorgeous and glamorous, but there's a decided vibe that they're in charge and you can join them or get out of the way. Even the full skirts, which usually strike me as being frivolous and not very practical, seem sharper. Not like there's razor blades in the hem or anything, but less... frothy. Possibly more barrier-like. It's a sleek bell shape, rather than having gathers and folds in the skirt. "

"Interesting," he said, looking at his models with narrowed eyes.

"Clothes that resonate with you give you confidence anyway. But you look at these women and they seem to use their clothes like battle armor, but there's nothing heavy about them. We used to have a big collection of clothes from past eras in the attic." He nodded. "I tried some of them on, and they were beautiful, but they could be so heavy. I can't imagine going to school in them plus a corset let alone any other activities, and some of them had so many petticoats that it was ridiculous. It was like the clothes were conspiring to keep you still."

"If you look in the past, times when women had new freedoms or took advantage of circumstances to create them, hemlines rose, skirts were narrower and less cumbersome. They could wear divided skirts or later, slacks. Practical. Shoulder pads were large, sometimes elements of menswear were adapted. In times when women had a 'place,' kept out of a full civic era, you find all sorts of ridiculous things, panniers and hoopskirts and bustles, corsets, and so many petticoats that it was hard to walk. In the 1940's, restrictions on cloth led to narrower, shorter skirts. There were regulations on how deep a hem could be. Women were necessary for the war effort and did a fine job in factories, filling in everywhere for men who were drafted. But when the men came home, the women were pushed out. And with a greater availability of fabric, skirts exploded with the New Look. Wasp waists and those skirts were beautiful to look at but not practical. Women were directed rather forcefully into traditional roles and their contributions to the war effort were minimized or overlooked. I'm given to understand that women didn't always like their options limited like that, quite reasonable. There was a lot of advertising directed toward showing women that they should be happy keeping house for a man, extolling the virtues of vacuum cleaners, telling her to shut her mouth, dress a certain way, clean up, have dinner on the table, and keep the kids quiet when Dad got home from a long day at the office to relax and be cosseted. It's interesting to note that there was also a significant increase in Valium prescriptions written during this time. So there is some validity to your observations; if it's hard for you to move, you don't."

"Some of the reaction to the New Look was delight in being able to have beautiful clothing with such extravagant skirts," Josee said, appearing at Uncle Steve's side. "But to maintain that look was so much work! Even with a very substantial girdle, you had to really watch what you ate, and you didn't always have the energy to do things. There was also so much skirt to press, the crinolines could itch. An alternative was the wiggle skirt, much less to it but so figure-conscious. It was glorious but restrictive. My mother had loved when the flapper aesthetic came about, even though she had to bind her breasts to get the look, simply because it was so freeing. Skirts were short, there wasn't much to them, and it was easy to do practically anything. Energy was the byword of the time. So freeing after hobble skirts." 

"There is a small but vocal segment of society who is clamoring for women to return to traditional roles," Uncle Steve said. "And it's not just Returnees, as you might expect. It's easy to understand why, it would be nice to come home from work and have your words hung on, everything done for you, be the ultimate, unquestioned authority. But that scenario comes at an enormous cost to the people who provide all these comforts and have to live with the consequences of those dicta. And it puts quite a lot of pressure on the men who want this. What happens if he loses his job? His self-esteem is entirely bound up in his status as the head of the household, the provider. If his wife has to go get a job, he's failed. And his authority is questioned. It's not at all healthy, for anyone. Nobody has all the answers or the right to tell someone else how to live their lives. Some people like to work in the home and that's great if it's their idea, but physiology doesn't mean that women are inherently better housekeepers or nurturers than men or that they can't be good CEOs. I'm troubled by it; I've heard some of my clients talking about pressure from their families or in-laws to quit working after a baby is born or to pull back on their ambitions." He shook his head. "You're not much of a human being if you have to suppress others to feel valuable. I loved raising Chris, and he was an easy baby and a great kid, but the thought of not getting a break from the childcare every day would have killed me. It was hard enough with Emma splitting the responsibilities. Emma is a fine mother, but in a way she benefited even more by having time to herself." He smiled. "And I would hate to have not had that time with my son, being able to care for him too. So I was thinking about that when I was working on this collection. The petticoats for the full skirts are constructed so that they will maintain a certain volume with no need to fuss with it. The women can move in everything; I had the models do some calisthenics to make sure." Josee laughed, delighted.

"And it was a sight to see a woman in an evening gown doing pushups, cherie," she said to me. "I believe a woman could go to war, leading troops in those clothes if she chose, and of course look fabulous."

"That's kind of the point, isn't it?" I asked and they both grinned.


	9. Explosive

I had permission from my photography teacher to skip class the morning of the show to be present for the run-through of the collection. It couldn't be done at the train station due to commuter traffic, making it difficult to truly rehearse, but it eliminated potential leaks. According to Josee, the press was expecting the miraculous as always. The rehearsal was done in the ballroom of the nearby Gotham Hotel, on the runway that another designer had used; Uncle Steve had agreed to chip in on the cost of teardown if he could use it first. The surface was too slippery and several models skidded on it. One did go down, and she got up swearing but unhurt. "The best thing about working for Steve is that he always makes sure that the catwalk isn't out to kill you," muttered Irena, one of the world's top runway models. Aside from this pitfall, the rehearsal went pretty well; hair and makeup wouldn't be done til later, but the sequence of looks was correct and it all looked splendid. I focused more on the mechanics of getting the women on the runway, the tweaks that Uncle Steve made rather than the looks themselves, trying to use my photos to tell a story. I still felt like an idiot for failing to understand my assignment in the photojournalism class and wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Then I had to rush to school, and from school I went to work before leaving a little early to get set before the show started.

I arrived, waved to my friends, and went backstage, an area contained by black draperies, for a few photos. I found the area in considerable disarray; one of the two makeup artists had collapsed and had to be hospitalized with flu. For the first time in my life, it looked like Uncle Steve was losing his considerable cool. I put my camera back in the bag after snapping some shots and went up to the artist. "I took a class in makeup that included runway looks at UAL last summer. I could at least do the basics for you, which would free you to put the finishing touches on each model."

"Kid, any help would be great. Here's my kit. I want perfect foundation, making sure to match the face to the neck, a hint of blush, lips a shade darker than whatever's natural. I'll take it from there."

"Right." I put down my cameras and picked up a tray of foundations and sponges, going to the next model. I appreciated the quality of the makeup; it went on smoothly and easily, set quickly, and it color-matched the model's skin tone easily. The professional ran over just as I finished with the lip color and nodded in relief.

"Great. Next one, but faster. We're running out of time." I worked as quickly as I could, and barely had enough time to get out to my position with my camera. I took a couple shots of Uncle Steve fussing with his cuffs, Aunt Emma tying his tie, and probably trying to get him a little calmer. He looked utterly addled. I took some shots of the celebrities in the front rows, including my mom and Grandma Alex. My friends were in the back row, looking thrilled. Alerted by the decrease in crowd noise, I turned my attention forward as Uncle Steve came out onto the catwalk, greeting the guests. I focused my camera and waited for my shots.

"Good evening, and thank you for attending my show this year. It's a considerable honor to close Fashion Week. This year, my focus is on the women who contribute so much to making the world a better place for all of us. I hope that my contribution means that they can do it in both style and comfort." The audience applauded as the first model stepped onto the runway. She wore fluid black pants with an intricately pieced peridot-green fitted jacket. The color would just match earrings I had... I shook myself out of acquisition mode and started taking pictures. The looks rolled out; tight pants with over-the knee boots that I bet Aunt Natasha inspired, skirts of all lengths, dresses, looks for day, cocktails, and serious evening functions. It was all incredibly polished but not artificial or off-putting. It was commanding. Attention, authority, respect. Damn. The way the models wore the looks made you feel like you too could look like them. And it was possible; Uncle Steve always designed for and used models with a range of body types, not just the stick-thin women so preferred by most designers.

The penultimate look was a chemise dress, a rich royal purple, with fringe and beading and sequins, completely frivolous and fun. The skirt hit right above the knee and while it wasn't tight to the body, it skimmed the model's figure and it was fantastic. It would look great on me. I smiled as I snapped the shutter. The last look was an exquisite strapless concoction made from heavy silk satin, emerald green, closely fitted to the figure to mid thigh, which is where it exploded out extravagantly. It nonchalantly demanded your total attention and a good bit of reverence, and after the pivot, you could see that the skirt was lifted to allow an extensive train of gold-embroidered black lace. You would step on that at your own peril. "Wow," the photographer next to me whispered, also working the shutter of his camera. I'd taken shots with my regular camera and the film camera, but also with the experimental camera from Wayne Labs; it had some different settings that I hoped would make my photos stand apart (in a good way) and I couldn't wait to see what I'd gotten. Then the model seized Uncle Steve's arm and tugged him down the runway as the audience rose to their feet and clapped. I included shots of animated magazine editors discussing the collection as they stood and the celebrities chatting excitedly. Grandma was grinning and Mom nodded at something she said. I smiled as I saw Aunt Emma peeking out from backstage looking relieved; she said he'd gotten a lot better especially compared to his state after his first show, but he still got himself all het up. Understandable, this was a passion as well as a career.

I waited for the crowd to thin out some, talking to my friends who had had a lot of fun and enjoyed the show thoroughly before calling Bob and heading home. I had gone through the images from the fittings but not the rehearsal, and I added my favorites to my portfolio and sent Uncle Steve a copy of it. I couldn't wait to hit the darkroom; I had three rolls of film to develop.

It took a few days to develop them all, but it was worth it. I had some outstanding shots along with some that were just really good. I printed copies of the best ones, placed them carefully in one of my folders, and took them over to Uncle Steve's after school. He always took time off after Fashion Week and I wasn't expecting him to be there. He was, though, and Josee chatted with me after she called him down. The phone had been ringing pretty much non-stop for appointments and requests for interviews. "Your mother already booked an appointment for you," she said, winking. Maybe I could talk my way into that dress after all. Maybe also the green jacket. Uncle Steve bounded down the stairs and gave me a hug.

"The photos you sent were wonderful," he said. "I'd like to use some of them on my website." He accepted the folder as he spoke. "And I can't thank you enough for helping with the makeup. We'd have been late since we were down an artist; he really did his best to honor his commitment, but I wish he'd called instead of coming in so sick. I'd rather not have risked anybody."

"And the custodians had more work to do than we'd expected," Josee said delicately. I wrinkled my nose.

He stopped speaking, flicking through the images rapidly, then more slowly, handing each to Josee after he was done. "So feminine, but also so commanding," she said, startled. Most of these shots were from the fittings and the rehearsal. "Lush, and cozy, but no nonsense somehow. These are exceptional, young lady."

"I look like an intruder," Uncle Steve said wryly. "I wish I'd been wearing the suit coat. I'll need to remember that when photographers are around." He grinned at me.

"You're certainly a focal point," I said. In most of the shots, he was in rolled-up shirtsleeves, looking decidedly casual next to his classy models, clad in the authoritative and beautiful garments.

"Genius can afford to look eccentric," Josee said, carefully tapping the edges of the images to align them and returned them to the folder. "Remember that, Mademoiselle."

"And there's this one," I said, remembering and hauling a small framed photo out of my messenger bag. I'd enlarged it slightly and cropped it before framing; it was the one of Aunt Emma peering around the curtain at the end of the show, pride and love and relief on her face. Uncle Steve smiled, cleared his throat, and blinked rapidly. Josee cooed over it.

"That's... wonderful, Lys," he said, touching the glass gently. "It's going on my desk. And I'd like to frame some of these to hang around the atelier."

"In the fitting booths," Josee suggested. He considered this and looked around.

"I may need to freshen my look here," he muttered. "Lys, I need to pay for these."

"No, it was a fantastic opportunity," I said. "Great images for my portfolio, and I'll have my work hanging here. The exposure is phenomenal. Nobody at school had an opportunity even close to this. People I met in London didn't have this. We shot a student showcase, and believe me, it was not at all the same."

"I remember those," he said nostalgically. And we had a rather spirited discussion about payment, but I refused to take money from him. He was family plus I'd gotten so much out of it. And he couldn't force me to take it. I left before he could try anything.

I rode the high from this success for a couple of weeks. During this time, my positive attitude helped me gain back a lot of ground in tennis and prompted a consult with the coaches in rowing, who wanted me to start competing as a single rower. Eights might be more prestigious, but singles were where they felt I'd be strongest. And my parents grudgingly (well, that was my dad, Mom was more encouraging) allowed me to register for a month's worth of classes at UAL for the summer. I couldn't wait to go back. Things were really going my way. SAT prep was going well and I had no doubt I'd be ready by the first Saturday in April.

Although I wasn't sure I was going to need the test results. I was thinking about going to an art school overseas. UAL, maybe, or Speos. I expected my parents to be kind of sticky about this, insisting on a full education, but ultimately, I needed to do what was best for my career and my life. And I might well decide to go to school in the States, which meant that I'd still need the test scores. I had to continue with the home study class, but my friends and I frequently studied together; sometimes at the house, but more often at a coffeehouse in the city or the library, the main city branch by choice.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. I worked up the courage to ask Craig Benson out, but he'd gotten a girlfriend who went to another school. My ex-friend Jane, as it turned out. I couldn't help the first titter that escaped, although I smothered the others. "Good luck with that," I managed to say before backing away. Jane. Why did it have to be Jane? Jane was really pretty and could hide her dark core of evil well, as I'd found out. Well, he was a big boy. Shucks, though. I'd need to find a new crush.

This happy state of affairs (well, mostly) came to a crashing halt not long after Valentines Day, when a bunch of supervillains attacked the Hall of Justice in DC and wrecked it. Mom had been down there doing some PR for some Justice League initiatives in literacy and education along with the other founders, and they'd successfully driven off the villains. But the bill for the damage was going to be huge; they couldn't get very good insurance on the place for obvious reasons. We watched the attack, which had been timed for prime placement in the news cycle, live on the evening news. The Justice League got the crap kicked out of them but no one was killed although they were all hurt. No civilian casualties, at least. Dad was paper white by the time the villains were routed by the arrival of other members of the League and some freelance street heroes in the city. Uncle Tony scrambled the Avengers to help out. Deri started to cry partway through and I took her upstairs right after it was over. She shouldn't have to see this; she wasn't a child anymore but she was still a kid, and it was upsetting to see a bunch of costumed assholes try to kill our mom. It was certainly upsetting for me. She wouldn't leave until we saw that she was ok, though. We went to my room where I made a fire and turned on some music. Alan came up with out dinner and still-warm brownies sprinkled with powdered sugar, tea and coffee in flasks for later. We ate dessert first, though.

My communicator started blowing up with texts from friends and other offspring and/or sidekicks. Those whose heroes hadn't been there were worried but not frantic, but others like Jon and Wally were pretty frantic. There was a tapping on the door and Dad came in. He was still colorless but calm. "Mom called," he said. "She's fine but the others need help. Damian's going down on the jet with Alex, which is actually faster than the suborbital here, to bring them back here for treatment."

"Mom's really going to be ok?" Deri snuffled. I put my arm around her and Dad gave her some tissues.

"She is, honey. She's got that healing factor. But they're going to be back soon. I wondered if you'd help Alan out by getting some rooms ready, girls." Deri snuffled again and nodded.

"The kids are frantic," I said. Dad nodded.

"Let's see what the state of things are, then we can bring them in. I'm going to go downstairs and make sure the cave's ready." We nodded and Deri left with Dad, while I took what was left of our dinner--we hadn't been very hungry--and took it to the kitchen. Alfred, Delara, and John came in as I was putting the leftovers away. John gave me a hug, then Delara stroked my hair.

"We came to see what assistance we could offer your father," Alfred said.

"Dad's downstairs," I said. "It looked to me like Superman was doused with kryptonite, so the med suite's going to have its hands full, so to speak. Deri's helping Alan make up guest rooms."

"I shall assist your father," Alfred said calmly. "There isn't much time until the jet gets back."

"We'll help Alan as well," Delara said. My communicator buzzed insistently and I glanced at it and repressed some bad words that might offend Alfred.

"Wally's on his way," I said, gritting my teeth. "And Jon. Dammit. Some of the other sidekicks are using boom tubes to get to the Hall of Justice. I don't even know if they're operational at that end." My voice rose.

"I shall inform Master Daniel, Miss Lys," Alfred said compassionately, and headed for the cave.

"Well, we shall make more rooms ready for the children," Delara said briskly. "Lys, perhaps you could contact the children and divert them here."

"There's no boom tube in New York," I said. "Grandpa Bruce doesn't want anybody just dropping by." She shut her eyes a moment.

"Alfred will discuss this with your father," she said doggedly. "We'll get things ready up here."

John gave me a hug. "Ms Diana looked fine, she was speaking on the news," he said, and I nodded. "So how many rooms for sidekicks?"

"No idea," I said. "Lots, though. We might as well make them all up, and I'll change my sheets and clean the bathroom really fast; we could put somebody in there if necessary and I can bunk with Deri."

"Stressed out superheroes," he said on a sigh. "Great." He came up to my room with me and it only took a few minutes to get things ready for a possible guest, then we found the others and explained my plan. That got general approval from Delara and Alan, and Deri brightened up a bit. I thought that maybe I'd sleep on her spare bed tonight anyway for comfort. Alan gave us each some guest rooms to prep and we hurried through; there wasn't time for flowers or cookies or any of the other flourishes, but there were clean sheets and towels, bathrobes, fresh water in carafes on the nightstands, and toiletries in the bathrooms, at least. We were finishing up when I heard a helicopter; it had to be bad for somebody to be brought in that way. I blew out a breath, quickly fluffed the last pillow, and went down to the cave. The med suite would have its hands full, but I had that first aid certification. I could help patch up the less badly wounded when they got here.


	10. Action

As I ran down the stairs, my communicator buzzed and I got acknowledgments that the sidekicks were coming here. The ones who hadn't used the Boom Tubes, anyway. The ones who had kept their heads and arranged their own transportation to New York. I got down to the exterior door to the cave just in time to see Superman brought in on the gurney. He was pale and sweating, unconscious; kryptonite poisoning for sure. I gripped the handle of the first aid kit I'd grabbed more firmly, and Dad noticed me when he turned around. "What are you doing down here, Lys?" I held up the kit. He grunted. "It's going to be ugly, honey. Are you sure you want to be here?"

"I can help. The sidekicks are on their way, but a lot of them are stuck in DC. The Boom Tube down there apparently is damaged and allows people to come but not leave."

He cursed under his breath. "Ok, damn. They're supposed to be able to keep level heads, that's part of the sidekick gig. I'll have to talk to Tony, the Avengers can help." Muttering, he went inside. I waited in the silence; Alfred was back in the med suite. Then I saw headlights rake through the darkness as pods sped up the twisting road. This was it.

Aquaman emerged from the lead vehicle; he was battered and had cuts but didn't seem to have anything beyond fairly superficial damage. He handed out Mom, who was curled in on herself and pressing her hand against her left side; I couldn't see much because her cloak mostly covered her. I looked around; there was a stand of pines to the side that had bare ground visible under its boughs where the snow couldn't get. I darted in and supported her. "Lys, dear," she said with effort.

I cut her off. "I'm here to help. There's bare earth over here." I turned and walked her over, helping her to lay down on the dirt. Her healing factor was augmented with the ability to draw energy from the earth, but she had to be in direct contact.

"Thank you, dearest," she murmured, and I could see her energy glow stronger.

"I'll be inside," I said, and trotted back. Grandpa Bruce was kind of stuck; I couldn't tell what the problem was under the heavy Batman costume. I considered, then went into the pod from the other side and put my foot on his butt, shoving gently, which at least got him out of the door. Aquaman caught him, and I told him where to take Grandpa Bruce. I got out, the pod doors closed, and the pod moved away, letting the next one come up. Green Lantern was bleeding profusely through several layers of gauze on his head. That seemed to be the worst of it for him. Flash was for once without his characteristic grin and could barely move from the severe beating he'd taken, barely conscious. I brought the wheelchair over. Martian Manhunter was also bloody and bruised, but more on the Aquaman side of the spectrum, so I directed him to take Flash inside and wait in the hall. I ran down to the med suite to find Alfred working hard and he said that Superman wouldn't be done any time soon. So I asked Mr J'onzz to take Flash down to the infirmary off the main bat cave, and ran ahead to triage.

Grandpa Bruce was swearing a blue streak as Aquaman helped him out of the body armor. Aquaman was fairly amused, in a grim way. "Broken ribs," Grandpa managed to say in between cusses. "Flash is worse off than I am." So I directed Mr J'onzz into the infirmary and he helped Flash onto the table. I set the scan and sent Mr J'onzz into the tissue accelerator. Ten minutes there and the cuts and bruises would be healed. While the scan was going, I sat Green Lantern down and quickly stapled the cut in his head closed, popping a needle in his arm with a painkiller and a pint of synthetic blood replacement; it wasn't dependent on blood type and had some low-level healing factor in it to support the patient. The tissue accelerator would work much better when the cut wasn't bleeding freely. He was next in line for the accelerator, and when he made no complaint, I knew that he needed it more than he wanted to admit.

"Five minutes more and Mr J'onzz will be out," I reassured him, and he nodded before leaning back and closing his eyes.

"The Flash has a compound fracture to the left tibia, high sprained ankle, fractured skull and clavicle, concussion, cracked ribs, whiplash, lacerated liver and spleen, low blood sugar, and hypothermia, Miss Lys," the medical AI said.

I took a second to sort the problems in order of severity. The compound fracture, with the bone sticking out, other fractures, the liver and spleen were the big issues and he'd need the full suite for that, but I could start to tackle everything else. And fast, Flash was semi-conscious and moving, which I didn't want, but I couldn't give him anything just now. Sedation wasn't given concurrently with the concussion meds; it needed about five minutes to start to work first. Just then Mom came in, looking 70% brighter aside from some blood down her side. "What do you need, dear?" she asked, watching me put an IV into Flash's arm.

"Could you go see how Superman's doing? Flash needs the suite soon," I said. She nodded and trotted off. "Aquaman, could you please get the heated blanket out of the big lower cupboard over there?" He complied immediately. Grandpa Bruce came in, finally having got rid of his costume and into the black workout gear that was stocked down here.

"What do you need, Lys?" he barked.

"A splint for the fracture, a brace for the ankle and a collar for his neck," I said, injecting healing factor, the concussion medication that was one of the crown jewels of Wayne Medical, and swapped out the line for a speedster-sized packet of glucose solution. Aquaman carefully draped the heating blanket over his comrade and found the control. It was on or off, so no questions about setting.

"About five more minutes, dear," Mom said, coming back. "How is Barry?"

"Almost ready to go," I said. Mr J'onzz appeared at the same time that Grandpa found what I'd asked for, moving carefully. "OK. Mr Lantern is next in the accelerator." I looked over; the synthetic blood had discharged into Flash's arm and he was looking somewhat better. "Grandpa, take out his IV. Mr Aquaman, you're next." Aquaman helped Green Lantern into the small room with the accelerator, then came out and took his seat as I carefully put the neck brace on Flash. Mom put the ankle brace on, just to be safe; it would immobilize his foot and keep the sprain and fracture from getting worse, at least, and just then Grandma Alex poked her head in. Excellent. She knew a lot more than I did.

"What have you done so far?" she asked, and I summarized quickly. "Good, honey. I'm here to take him to the med suite, I'm helping Alfred." I flipped off the brake and Grandpa moved out of the door. It took both Grandma and me to ease the gurney out the door. "Clark's going to be fine," she said as she pushed the gurney briskly, passing Grandpa Damian and Dad, who were coming back. I got out the supportive wrap, another ace Wayne product, and had Grandpa Bruce stand up straight so I could mold the wrap to his torso. It needed a couple of minutes to set, then he could take it off for his turn in the tissue accelerator, bur the support for his ribs was needed. He leaned against the wall as I wet a towel and wrung it out, passing it to my mom with no comment so she could wipe the blood off her leather-look body armor before Deri could see. Dad started picking at her hair, removing pine needles, it turned out.

I looked around; fortunately I was out of patients, so I started to clean up. Dad helped silently. It was a lot easier without the table taking up so much room, it was a small space. Green Lantern came out, still looking tired and gory but much better. Aquaman pushed to his feet and went into the accelerator. Dad told him where the shower was down here, and Green Lantern nodded and left.

Whew. Lotta adrenaline. "That's a heck of a first aid course," Dad said, hugging me. "What a champ, Lys."

"You've done all you can down here, Buttercup," Grandpa Damian said. I turned my head to look at him questioningly. "Neatness, humility, charm, happiness, friendship, youth." I smiled at him. "Alan's bringing down a meal, we need to do some planning once everybody's healed and cleaned up. Well, maybe not Flash, he'll be out for awhile, and Superman will take some time to recover too, but we can make a start. I understand that kids and sidekicks are also coming." I nodded and Dad let go, keeping his arm around my shoulders. "I'd really appreciate it if you could get them settled in too. When our butlers have a moment, they can bring up some changes of clothing from supply down here, I doubt anybody's thought ahead."

"It would be helpful if you guys could take a break once the kids get here, let them see that their heroes are going to be ok," I suggested, and Grandpa Damian nodded.

"Most of the League has had fluids, those who didn't get an IV have been gulping restorative beverages. We're going to have to take some pee breaks." So I went up and sent Deri down to see Mom, who'd also changed into civvies. I had just fixed the big coffee brewer--I anticipated a long night--when there was a positive hail of knocks at the kitchen door. I opened it to find Wally, out of breath and looking faded. I brought him in and seated him at the kitchen table, giving him one of the souped up beverages they kept downstairs for the speedsters while I made him a huge sandwich, putting a bag of chips down and bringing over the fruit bowl. I brought coffee over for me and a pitcher of water for Wally. Speedsters were pretty much black holes when it came to resupplying their metabolic needs. I'd just sat down when there was another knock; I looked up and waved Jon in. I gave him coffee and he took a banana.

"Superman and Flash were the worst off," I said when they both had their mouths full and couldn't interrupt. "Superman had kryptonite poisoning. Flash... I don't know what happened to him but he was really beat up and he's in surgery now. They'll both be ok, though." Jon didn't say anything, but rubbed his hands over his face, holding them in place for a moment. His eyes were red after.

"I gotta call my mom," he mumbled. "She didn't want me to come, but I promised an update."

"Dad said he'll need some time to regain his strength, but the poisoning has been addressed," I said encouragingly, not mentioning the suffering Superman had been through. Jon probably knew what it was like, no need to get graphic. He nodded and went into the hall to make contact.

"Flash was worse off, quantitatively," I said gently to Barry. His hand fisted and he chewed faster. I put my hand on top of his. "Fractured skull, concussion, whiplash, broken clavicle, cracked ribs, lacerated liver and spleen, fractured tibia, high ankle sprain, hypoglycemia, and hypothermia. I took care of the hypoglycemia, hypothermia, and concussion, braced his neck and leg, he was getting a little squirmy, and he went into the med suite, where the liver, spleen, and tibia will be fixed. Then he'll get time in the accelerator, which will fix the whiplash and the ankle sprain. Alfred will give him some factors that will encourage healing in the bones, but they have to be carefully monitored. It'll juice up his healing." Wally swallowed.

"I don't have a very good relationship with my parents," he said quietly. "Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris are... well. Pretty much everything to me. Are you sure he's going to be ok?"

"He's in Alfred's hands right now, and I trust Alfred with my life," I said honestly. "You guys will be able to go down soon."

"Any timeline on that?" Jon asked, coming back into the kitchen, followed by John.

"When they need to take a pee break, is when I was told," I said. Jon smiled.

"Everything's set upstairs, Lys," John said, and I nodded.

"We have rooms for heroes and sidekicks who show up," I said. "First come, first serve."

"I can take you two up there, then you can come down when you're ready," John offered, and I introduced him. The two sidekicks nodded.

"When you come back down, Wally, you could take a nap in the library," I said. "That way you won't miss the meeting." Wally lived in Nebraska when things were ok with his parents, but in St. Louis with the Flash when they weren't; he'd covered a lot of ground tonight and needed to rest. Jon had flown up from Philly. He needed a rest too.

John had just taken the boys upstairs when there was a signal from the gate, more pods, under Uncle Tony's command. Uncle Tony gave me a hug when he came in, trailing Avengers Emeritus Captain America and Winter Knight, and current Avengers Black Widow, Hawkeye, Quicksilver, Justice, and League members Green Arrow, Black Canary, the Hawkpeople, Supergirl, Zatanna, and Cyborg. And a few more sidekicks: White Canary, Artemis, and Zacarius. I got hugs from Uncles Tony, Steve, Bucky, and Clint and Aunts Natasha and Serena. Green Arrow and Black Canary patted my shoulders, and Hawkman nodded at me. Supergirl also gave me a hug, and the heroes went down to the cave. I offered the sidekicks coffee and explained the setup to them. I quickly counted visitors: Grandpa Bruce was local and Mom lived here, so we didn't need to find rooms for them. That left Superman, Flash, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter, Arrow and Canary, the Hawks, Supergirl, Zatana, and Cyborg for the heroes, and sidekicks Jon, Wally, Artemis, Laurel and Zacarius. Sixteen guests, but we only had ten guest rooms. Well, plus my room, and Arrow and Canary were married as were the Hawkpeople, so I had to find four more rooms. I explained that one of them could have my room and I'd bunk with my sister, and Artemis took me up on the offer.

Delara came up to get the coffee going in the big machine, but I'd already started it. I explained our shortage and she said that Grandma Alex said that they could take overflow. Laurel said that she and her parents would be fine down there, and when John reported back, Delara collared him and sent him down to fix rooms. They had two guest rooms plus Iris and Miles' old rooms. I made a diagram of the available guest rooms here, blocked out where Jon and Wally had chosen, and let Zacarius choose, a room by the other boys. So I took them upstairs to settle in, and put the things I'd need for the next few days in Deri's room. Artemis seemed really pleased to be staying in my place, which sure beats somebody looking around with an air of disappointment. Deri was helping Delara in the kitchen when I came back down, getting the tray ready with cups and saucers, a selection of sugars, cream, and half and half. Nobody in this crowd took plain milk in their coffee. The kettle was on for Grandpa Damian. Delara was thawing some pound cake and cookie dough that Alan had made, popping the dough in the oven, so I took the coffee and tea downstairs, following Deri. In the cave, the butlers took the trays and we went back up.

"About half an hour before the heroes take a break," I said. Delara shooed us into the library, where I turned down the lights in a corner so that Wally and Jon could have their naps, covering them with throws. The rest of us fixed our coffee, and Delara brought in cookies.

"Garth and Kendra and M'gann and Connor won't be here until tomorrow," Artemis reported. Well, I had to go to school tomorrow and somebody else could figure out where to put the other sidekicks.

"I don't think I met M'gann and Connor," I said thoughtfully as Deri curled up next to me. I put my arm around her.

"M'gann is the Martian's niece," Zacarius explained helpfully. "She's nice. Connor... Connor is a bit of an issue. He's Superman's clone, a Kryptonian/human hybrid made by Project Cadmus. He's touchy and surly, and Superman doesn't know quite what to do with him. He's a good guy, though." I had some thoughts about this but decided to wait on them until tomorrow. We talked until Alan came up to get Jon and Wally, and Dad came up too to tell us all to get to bed, they'd be working for longer. Deri was dozing and I was glad to go to bed myself, even if it wasn't my bed. School was going to suck tomorrow, it was past 2 am.


	11. The aftermath and cleanup

"Lys." I burrowed under the comforter. I was so tired.

"Lys and Deri, it is time to get up." Mom's voice was firm.

"Mooooooooooooom," Deri and I groaned in chorus. I felt the comforter start to slide away, so I clutched it and pulled.

"Lys, if you are awake enough to fight me for the comforter, you are awake enough to get up," Mom's voice was amused. I was not. Then she tickled my foot and I sat bolt upright. "See?" I shot her a look and heaved out of bed as she turned to my sister. I stumped down the stairs wearily, glad that there wasn't a ladder which I probably would have fallen off. The bonus was that I got the shower first; Deri had a tendency to linger and I wasn't in the mood for it. I slapped on makeup after towel-drying my hair and putting it into a ponytail, dressing as quickly as I could in jeans and a sweater. That was the most that could be reasonably hoped for this morning. Deri and I grunted at each other in passing as I left the bathroom.

I clomped downstairs to make my smoothie, but the day was looking up. Alan had made a great breakfast. Bacon, eggs, whole-wheat toast with homemade marmalade, fruit, and coffee. I added cream and raw sugar to my coffee and wolfed down my meal. "Thanks, Alan. You're a lifesaver."

"It was quite an exciting evening, Miss Lys," he observed, and handed me a large flask of coffee to take with me.

Dad came down the stairs as I was on my way to the coat room to pick up my jacket and grabbed me in a hug. "Alan has breakfast," I mumbled into his suit coat.

"Excellent," he said in relief. "You did a great job last night, Lys. I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, then reluctantly called Bob and went to school. AI Tony read me the headlines, which was mostly rehashing the destruction of the Hall of Justice. The politicians were screeching, the public worried that something was powerful enough to take out the Justice League, and then, to put the cherry on top, an organization called the "Injustice League" was taking credit.

"You're kidding me," I said in disbelief.

"'Fraid not," AI Tony said.

My friends asked me if everything was ok, and I said yes, but I was still pissed. And tired, but Nix was a gentleman and let me lean against him at lunch to take a nap. Both John and I had messed up questions in class; I doubt he'd gotten any more sleep than I had. How did sidekicks function? Teens needed more sleep. Scientific fact.

I got home in time to get a nap in before cocktail hour. I woke Deri and we made ourselves presentable before going down for pre-dinner. Alfred was dispensing beverages and gave me a Shirley Temple and Deri a Coke. We saved full-sugar beverages for special occasions. "Both you young ladies rose to the occasion yesterday," he said, smiling at us, and we made way for Aquaman, who was asking about the whiskey. Grandpa Bruce liked that liquor, so we had a good variety. It felt good to have our contributions acknowledged. We made our way over to one side of the library; the only other kid down was Artemis. Deri took the chair closest to her and I sat on the sofa.

"Any news about this Injustice League?" I asked her, and she frowned.

"Some, yes. We've identified all the people who were at the Hall last night. Clayface, Lex Luthor, Cheshire, Cheetah, Toyman, Two-face, Deathstroke, Killer Croc, Felix Faust, Killer Frost, and Black Manta."

"Penguin?" I asked casually, and she shook her head.

"No. We're operating on the theory that there are more to the Injustice League than just the villains we saw. Batman went to the Icebox Lounge, and Penguin had an alibi. More than that, Batman said he was genuinely shocked and he gave him a truth serum to determine that he wasn't mixed up in this league of villains. He's clear of that." Oh, good. Nix would have been crushed if his dad returned to active villainy. Maybe that was why the Penguin kept clear. Others entered the library, including a tall, handsome black haired boy with a stern face who I hadn't seen. "That's Connor," Artemis said. "Superman's clone." She smiled. "Connor's got a Superman-sized chip on his shoulder, so he and Jon don't get along much. Jon tries to be casual when Connor's around, not rub his relationship with his dad in Connor's face."

"I don't get it," Deri said. "Why does Superman have a clone?"

"Project Cadmus obtained his DNA, spliced it with human DNA, and grew him in something like fourteen weeks? A really short time, anyway, and they had a way of imparting information and knowledge to him so that he wasn't ignorant and incapable of functioning when he was rescued. But Superman doesn't really know what to do with him. He and M'gann live in a League-owned satellite property. Well, now it's going to be the headquarters for the League, nobody knows about it. M'gann lives there because her uncle doesn't have an apartment or house down here, he lives full time up on the Watchtower. The sidekicks have been using it as our base." Deri looked around and leaned in.

"So who was the person the human DNA was taken from, do they know?" Artemis nodded.

"Lex Luthor."I was shocked, and she nodded again. "Yeah. So that's why Superman kind of keeps his distance. It's not fair to Connor, he needs Superman. He doesn't have all of Superman's powers; he can't fly and he doesn't have x-ray or heat vision. What he does have is superstrength, enhanced speed, telescopic and infrared vision, super hearing, and invulnerability, but these aren't as strong as Superman's, either, due to the human DNA. And Lex tried to use him as a weapon, luring him closer with the offer of a father-son relationship, giving him these addictive transdermal patches to make him stronger and tougher, and he had a control program implanted while he was still... developing, I guess. M'gann destroyed his programming and he's been weaned away from the patches, but it's still a bumpy road." As we watched covertly (but probably not as subtly as we thought,) he was joined by M'gann. They got beverages from Alfred, then Connor spoke to M'gann and went off to the side. M'gann came over and joined us. 

"He's being broody," she sighed.

"Surprise," Artemis cracked, and M'gann smiled. We were joined by Jon, who plopped down between me and M'gann, and Wally, who had to pull up another chair. The other sidekicks drifted over, and we rearranged some furniture so that everyone could sit who wanted to. The conversation became more general; Deri and I were asked questions about school; we all compared our schools and schedules, the sidekicks talked about the data they'd sifted, and then we were called to dinner. Then it was back to the library for coffee and sweets. Dad came over as we were working through a tray of cookies and small cakes.

"The heroes are going down to DC tonight to speak with the police, press, and politicians, as well as address citizen's concerns in a couple of meetings," he said. "And determine what to do with the Hall. The sidekicks will be going home; your heroes will have specific tasks to help relocate the League to Mount Justice." There were some dissatisfied murmurs. "You guys don't have the experience to handle the meetings yet, but the tasks that you'll be given are important. We'll be flying you back, so after you finish up here, get your instructions and we'll get you home." Dad went along to speak to Mom, and the sidekicks finished the tray of baked goods.

"We'd better get moving," Jon said. He smiled, looking quite a bit like his dad when he did, and patted my shoulder. Then the group dispersed, the kids going to get their things and report back down. Mom came over to say that they anticipated being in DC for a couple of days, both for all the meetings and also to assess the damage done to the Hall. Aunt Serena was coming down with them and would be able to make recommendations for repairing or rebuilding the Hall. Deri and I stayed down to say goodbye to our guests and Mom, then we went upstairs to slog through the minimum homework before we could go to bed.

The next couple of days went by like normal for me; rowing and tennis and school and work. Tryouts for tennis club were imminent and I put in some very focused last-minute effort. the schedule of upcoming regattas for the season was posted at the rowing club, and I talked first to my coaches and then to my dad about which ones I could attend. I also selected my classes for the summer: the long courses were in professional makeup, which included period makeup as well as corrective, 'natural', bridal and special occasions, more information on editorial, advertising, and couture looks, advanced body painting, and fantasy looks; there was a short unit on hair styling techniques as well. There was a cosmetics science course, in which we would learn how to make sunscreen, skincare, shampoo and conditioner, and cosmetics. Module two of the interior design class I'd done the previous year, which covered commercial spaces. And there were photography courses: short courses in portrait photography, architectural photography, advanced lighting, advanced photographic processes, and luxury photography. And a weekend class on photography preservation. It was a lot of classes, but they were such a great way to get feedback, information and experience in a short amount of time. By taking only three long classes and six short classes, I hoped to spend a little more time poking around London.

John was going to be joining me for part of it; he was taking a class on furniture styles, one on interior styling, and one on the principles of collection management in order to expand his butlering horizons. It was a little daunting to realize how much he expected from his future employer, but on the other hand, working for somebody like my parents would provide him with the opportunity to do pretty much anything he wanted, professionally. He added one at the last minute on something called "cool hunting and trends," which I understood to be a way to discover up and coming trends and influences. It sounded interesting, but I couldn't fit it in with my other work.

Mom and the other League members appeared on television; part of a town hall meeting was shown on the news. It was supposed to be just regular citizens, but politicians who apparently weren't content haranguing the heroes in their press conferences showed up to. The citizens just wanted information on the damage done to the Hall and what the heroes thought were the chances of the Injustice League coming back. But the politicians, out for blood and with the backing of the White House, asked why the heroes hadn't kept this from happening, blaming them for the incident, like it was their idea, or at least due to their negligence. Fingers were pointed about the damage and the cost of the damage. The nerve! And it wasn't just some two-bit junior flunky Representative or Senator; these were leaders of both parties. And the governors of Virginia and Maryland, and the mayor of Alexandria.

Flash and Green Lantern got too hot under the collar about their insinuations and outright distortions and were effectively shut down by Superman. Then there were allegations that Superman (!) and Martian Manhunter, as aliens, were involved.

Mom took over. She stood, took a folder, and began passing out chips to each news organization present. "These are copies of the security feed from the Hall of Justice. The feeds were recorded until the cameras were destroyed, but a few did somehow survive," she said. "Your experts will be able to tell that they have not been altered in any way. From this, we have been able to ascertain the identities of several criminals who directly participated in the attack on the Hall." She named them all, ending with Lex Luthor, who just happened to be buddies with the President and a major contributor not only to her campaign but to most of the politicians in the room. Seriously, people--term limits. Pare down the corruption. She spoke over the buzzing of the press corps, who were looking things up on their communicators and looking over at the politicians, who were muttering among themselves. "However, the League recognizes that leaders of our political bodies worry about their personal safety, and we understand their concern. We are also concerned about the effect of the attack on the citizens of the District of Columbia and the states of Maryland and Virginia, as well as the many tourists who come to our capital every year from all over the world, in part to tour the Hall. It is not our desire to put those who simply want to live their lives in peace and harmony in jeopardy, so we are announcing the relocation of the Hall of Justice to a less populated area. The Hall is too badly damaged to reconstruct; what is left will be cleaned up and the site sold."

And didn't that just put the fox in the henhouse. Mom hadn't been joking; the Hall was the number one tourist attraction in the DC area. Very few came to the capitol just to see the Hall; but most people who came took the tour. They bought merchandise... which provided a small but statistically not insignificant chunk of taxes. And all the League members were known to show up unannounced, so tourists could take pictures with them. They cuddled babies, horsed around with kids (especially Flash) and sometimes even conducted the tour of the Hall. I laughed, thinking of all the ramifications. And the press were faster at it than I was; by the next morning, every politician in DC who had taken campaign contributions from Lex Luthor or Lex Corp or had even been photographed with him were backpedaling hard, on the defensive, and trying to poke holes in the evidence. The press, prepared for this, fought back. Some of the citizens who were interviewed thanked the League for moving the Hall, and no few of them said they had nothing against the League, but the attack had scared them. More voiced their support for the League and said that they'd like the Hall to be rebuilt here.

But the day after, the League announced the purchase of a significant parcel of land in Montana, north of Yellowstone (a safe distance away from the national treasure), between Bozeman and Butte. There were air and spaceports in both municipalities that could service the area, but there was nothing very close to the site. The League went right out and announced the precise location of the new Hall of Justice with the governor, mayors of municipalities in the southwest part of the state, and other state politicians, and the considerable charms of the state were heralded as a beautiful natural backdrop for the Hall, which was to be built by Valkyrie, designed by Aunt Serena. The taxes it would generate from visitors who came here were discreetly emphasized; the League didn't charge entrance fees, but the profits from the sale of the merchandise paid for the maintenance and upkeep of the Hall. The taxes would mostly come from property taxes, hotel guests, from car rentals and dining, and other tourist activities; DC could absorb the loss of the Hall pretty easily in terms of terms of the jobs that depended on it (surprisingly few), but the benefits for the state were going to be significant.

But something really wonderful happened on a personal level. Nix asked me out, on a date, not just as friends doing stuff together. He took me to a ballet matinee--Miles was on as the understudy to the second male lead in a wonderful modern ballet called 'Romances"--and to dinner afterward. And things went on nicely from there.


	12. The SATs

Not long after Mom got back, still irritated with the politicians, League members started showing up and near the estate, a boom tube was installed. These devices, an Einstein-Rosen bridge, were artificially created using the X-element for power, and linked League locations for its members. Mom and Batman were the only ones in New York, but the installation of the tube would make it possible for them to get out to Montana fast when the Hall was complete. Until then, they could use it to reach Mount Justice, which I gathered was farther up in New England somewhere. It was kind of like having a Bifrost of their own, but this one didn't need a Heimdall and could only be used by League members or their officially recognized sidekicks.

I made the tennis team. By the skin of my teeth (not that I had teeth skin, I brushed), but I made it. I was given partners so I could improve my doubles game, which is where Coach thought I could best make contributions, and we started practice immediately. Liv was my partner for girls' doubles, and Perry was my partner in mixed doubles, and right off the bat I had to work my hardest because they were really strong players, continually yelling corrections at me as we played against other pairs. It was a little irritating, but I learned a lot; the learning curve was steep and it was sink-or-swim time. School tennis season was pretty short; we had our first competition two weeks after the team was announced, and five immediately after, running pretty close to the end of the semester. There were so many schools with teams in the area that I was told we'd never see the same team twice unless it was in the state championships. In a burst of school spirit, I had my hair dyed in the school colors. Gina did a fantastic job; to the official colors of yellow and red, she added oranges but omitted the black (we were the Hells Kitchen Devils, so it was kind of trite) and there was a new line of products with special effects; gold and silver microparticles, pearlescence, and an iridescence that sparkled in the sun. She carefully added the gold effect just here and there for maximum impact, and it looked glorious. I didn't like it as well as my favorite purple and blues, but those colors didn't look right with the tennis uniform (black sleeveless dresses with red and yellow strips at the neck and hemline). And it really was gorgeous.

The Saturday after I made the team, Nix and I were studying in a remote corner of the public library, taking a break. "I wanted to ask you something," he said, playing with my hair. I looked at him inquiringly. "My dad would like to meet you," he said. My eyebrows went up. "He's interested in meeting my... someone special." His cheeks reddened. I grinned. "I might have insinuated that you were my girlfriend," he confessed. I leaned over and kissed him.

"Would you like to be my boyfriend?" I mumbled against his lips. I could feel his lips curve.

"Very much, thank you," he murmured, and kissed me back. This developed into a happy state of affairs, but we were interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

I broke the kiss and turned to see Aunt Barbara, looking amused. "L-Anna, you just had some holds check in," she said, placing them on the table.

"Thanks, Aunt Barbara," I said, resigned.

"You're welcome," she said. She chuckled as she walked away. "School before snuggles!" she said over her shoulder. I rolled my eyes and went back for a few final kisses. I gave Nix my schedule before we got back to work.

He checked with his dad, and we went over to the Iceberg Lounge one day after practice. It wasn't open for business yet, but there was a bouncer on the door. Nix and he exchanged greetings, and we were let through. It was my first time in an adult establishment (I didn't count the pubs in Britain because they were open to families) and I looked around covertly. I liked it; it was decorated in whites and ocean shades of green and blue, with soothing, indirect lighting. Normally I'd harmonize really well, but with my new hair it was like fire and ice. Nix steered me to a table in what must be the VIP section but right now allowed his dad to spread out and do his business. The legitimate part, at least. The Penguin got up and gave his son a hug, and we gave each other the once-over. Mr Cobblepot was slightly shorter than his son (who was tall and muscular), kind of rotund but not obese, with a long sharp nose and small but piercing dark eyes. His black suit was bespoke and the white shirt blinding. Nix must resemble his mom a lot more except for the hair, which was thick and dark on both. "Dad, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Anna Wayne," Nix said, his hand at my waist. We grinned at each other. "Anna, this is my father, Oswald Cobblepot."

"Nice to meet you, Anna," Mr Cobblepot said, extending his hand, which I promptly shook. "Nix speaks of you frequently."

"A pleasure, Mr Cobblepot," I said, and with a smile, he invited us to seat. The chairs were comfortable and a waitress came over for our order. The staff uniform (preparations were starting for that evening's business, apparently; there were several people around) was black slacks, an ice-blue shirt with "Staff" on the left chest and the club logo on the back, and servers also wore a black half-apron with coasters and whatnot in the pockets. I ordered a Shirley Temple, Nix a diet Coke. Mr Cobblepot looked amused.

"I didn't know that people still remembered that drink," he said. His voice was rather nasal, but crisp and authoritative.

"I guess it's named after somebody but I don't know who," I said. "It's my favorite special occasion drink, at least until I turn eighteen. Then who knows?" He smiled.

"Shirley Temple was a child actress in the early days of cinema," he said. "Blonde hair in corkscrew curls, precocious, rather nauseatingly adorable, sang and danced." I recoiled slightly and his smile grew bigger. "She was Hollywood's top box office draw during the height of her career, as a matter of fact, won a special Academy Award. But later in life, she was a businesswoman and quite a good diplomat. Chief of Protocol for the US government, held two ambassadorial appointments." That was interesting and he told us a little more about this until the server returned with our drinks and a bowl of snacks. Nix had never had the drink and took a sip.

"That's actually really good," he said, surprised, and his father indulgently signaled the waitress, who came back with one for Nix. Then there was some chat; Nix was asked about school, work, friends, and his mom, and I was invited to talk about my hobbies and activities. Nothing too personal. I wasn't completely sure, but I felt that he knew who my family was. He told Nix that he'd talked to Nix's mom and they were going to upgrade his pod; he wasn't happy with information coming out from the manufacturer that suggested they cut corners despite Nix not having any trouble. They agreed to a time and date where they would go out looking, and I smiled. This was the first supervillain I'd spent any time with, even if he was mostly reformed, and he seemed nice. He obviously cared a lot for his son and Nix's opinions were considered. I must have been expecting him to hang out more in a lair like the cave, only more villainish, because I was a little disappointed. The cave was a lot more atmospheric. But it was kind of reassuring that Penguin had cleaned up his act so much. I'd consulted the computer in the cave before I visited, and the old Penguin had been much more... unpleasant.

When we got up to leave, Mr Cobblepot shook my hand again and hugged his son, beaming at him and reaching up to mess up his hair. Nix was vain about his hair and ducked away, swatting at his father, who laughed a distinctive barking sort of honk, kind of like a Canadian goose. Nix took my hand and we left to meet the others for dinner and then to a late study group. The SATs were next week and time was running out to study. Nobody wanted to have to take it again.

It was Saturday before I really realized it, and I met the others for a hearty breakfast at a diner not far from the school. Imogen said that we might as well be comforted with full stomachs. I laughed and made sure to drink a good amount of coffee to counteract this effect. There was a bathroom break built into the schedule so I'd be ok. We quizzed each other on the way to the school and checked in. The classrooms that were being used for testing were all on the first floor, and we joined other nervous students waiting outside in the halls. Dumb computer terminals were used and there was a last-second software issue being worked out. Students got irritable; we could practically feel the knowledge we'd gained at the last-minute cramming leaking out of our brains and wanted to get going.

What I didn't expect was the sound of gunfire. And I could smell the gunpowder, this was real. The doors to the classrooms were all locked, and the shots were coming down both ends of the hall toward us. Students were screaming, but I couldn't tell if they'd been hit or were just terrified. My friends and I crowded into a doorway; the door locks and framing were metal so that nobody could break in and steal anything, but we knelt on the floor, huddled together, heads down. Justine was in the corner and was calling 911, pleading for help. I called my mom--no answer, then I remembered that she was in London for... something museum related. I tried my dad, who did answer. "Somebody's shooting guns in the school and we're trapped in the hall," I said as soon as he said my name. "We've called the cops, but--"

My communicator was ripped out of my hands and smashed by a guy with an assault rifle and a stocking mask. He surveyed the group of us and unexpectedly whistled. Other terrorists broke off and converged on us. We were pulled to our feet, dragged down the hall and out the door, and shoved into the back of a van that pulled up as we exited. I had just enough time to realize that we were all there except for John and Imogen, who had taken last minute bathroom breaks. Good for them. Then a thug lobbed in a canister and slammed the door. We had just a second to look at it--just long enough for adrenaline to start shooting up-- and it went off, filling the compartment with a foul-smelling greenish gas.

I woke up in a room that looked like a small empty office space. We were all there, groggy and from the way everybody flinched and touched their heads, with pounding headaches like mine. The gas had left a faint greasy residue on my skin. There was no window and only one door, with a dim overhead light and cheap, thin carpet. Not even a carpet pad. It was shabby, with scuffs on the wall. I crawled over to Nix and huddled with him. Jinx was on my other side, next to the door, and he asked if we were all right. Nobody had been substantially hurt, at least, just nauseated, disoriented, and afraid. Mark, Ari, and Justine kneewalked over to the wall across from us and sat, backs against it. We sat in silence for a minute. My mouth was dry and tasted foul.

"What do you think we should do?" Ari asked.

"Does anybody still have their communicator?" Justine asked. I shook my head and nobody had theirs either.

"We need to get out," I said, and Jinx nodded.

"I'll try the door," he said. "If it's open, let's take our chances." This was agreed to promptly. Jinx got to his feet and tried the door knob. It turned and we all struggled to our feet. Then the door burst open, knocking Jinx back. Three big, muscular men strode into the room. It was suddenly a microscopically small office. One of them grabbed Jinx and shoved him out.

"One of the girls," the second man barked, and the third seized my arm and dragged me out. I heard Nix protest and the sound of someone being hit. The third man told the rest than anyone attempting to leave would be shot, and the door slammed. The third man did not follow us down the hall as Jinx and I were dragged along. My thug had my wrist in a painfully tight grip but I wasn't about to protest, not when I saw that we were being dragged into a larger room, like a board room, but without any furniture. But there more thugs, all with guns. Rifles, shotguns, and some handguns. Where had they gotten all of them? It was a lot harder to obtain weapons these days; arms dealers who were caught redhanded could be killed on the spot by law enforcement and this was a pretty powerful deterrent. It had been more than a hundred eighty years since a mass shooting.

We stopped walking just inside the room and my thug halted behind me, put his hand around my throat and I could feel the barrel of his handgun press to my temple. I stayed stock still. Jinx was shoved to his knees and a thug with a rifle pointed it to his head. I was absolutely terrified.

The door at the other end of the room opened and a middle-aged woman sauntered in. She had faded bicolored hair--pink dip dye on one ponytail, blue on the other side, really short shorts, a ripped red and white t-shirt, a satin jacket, fishnets, and tall Doc Martens. "Harley?" Jinx asked, puzzled, but relaxing slightly. I felt this was a mistake.

"Jinx, honey," she said, coming over. "Nice ta see ya. I've got a surprise for ya." She gestured behind her, and behind her, a wheelchair moved almost silently into the room.


	13. Trouble

The man sitting in it had his legs covered with a black blanket that was tucked in around the thighs. His upper half was powerful. His face was unnaturally pale, his hair, standing up in spikes, had been dyed--poorly, Gina would be appalled--a gross kind of green, and his dark eyes were soulless and malevolent. His fingers tapped the control panel and he moved in farther, with two additional thugs behind him.

"Jinx, this is your father, Mistah J," Harley beamed. Now that she was closer, I could see some bruising under her makeup. Or was that makeup? I couldn't actually tell. She too was quite pale, almost bleached-looking.

"My dad is Tom Johnson," Jinx said, and Harley backhanded him. Really hard; Jinx fell back a couple of steps.

"Mr J came inside me, I got pregnant, I pushed you out. We're your parents, Jinx, not those pretenders," she spat. Ew.

"You put me up for adoption because you didn't want me to be a loser too," Jinx retorted, earning more blows.

"That's enough, Harley," the man in the wheelchair said, directing the chair over to where the head of the table would have been if there was one in the room. His voice was raspy and weird, like a buzz saw mixed with a wild dog. "The boy will fall in line. We have his friends." His malevolent eyes rolled over to me. "If that doesn't quite do the trick, well, we can always pay his foster parents a visit."

"They're my real parents," Jinx insisted stubbornly, and this time one of the thugs stepped forward. At the same time, a cart was wheeled in and a wooden chair with arms placed about halfway down the wall. Jinx was bleeding from the mouth and had a couple of cuts on his face when the thug stepped back. He was bent over his aching midsection. The Joker nodded and I was dragged over and shoved down. I started to struggle, making the thug holding me drop his weapon, then I used some of Bucky's dirty tricks. I was at the door when I was tackled and dragged back by my feet, forced into the chair. My arms and legs were bound to the chair.

"Get her ID," the Joker directed, but this wasn't possible since my purse had been left behind at the school. "What's your name, girl?" One of the thugs backhanded me.

"Anna Wayne," I said nervously. The Joker's mad eyes narrowed to slits and he immediately brought up a screen from the other arm of his chair. It was a pretty high-end wheelchair to have that function. He grunted.

"Not one of those Waynes has that name," he said roughly, sounding intensely frustrated, staring at me. His hands fisted. "But I'll deal with them soon enough. Soon. They have to pay, especially that bitch. Oh, yes, I'm quite looking forward to that. You, boy. Congratulations. You're going to be the heir to my empire. I need a lieutenant, and what's better than blood?"

"Don't be stupid," Jinx said. Dear god, the boy had more balls than brains. Agree, then get out. Get help.

A thug buried his fist in my stomach. I couldn't help crying out, it hurt so bad.

"Don't be stupid, boy," the Joker mocked. "Don't forget that I have this girl, and four more of your idiot friends in my power. You will comply. You will fall in line. There are consequences if you don't. And you will witness all of them." He brightened. "In fact, let's have a demonstration. It's been ages since I've been to a good old fashioned torture session."

***

I waited to make sure they were finished before I allowed myself to hope that I'd get out of this alive. I wish I'd been unconscious, but they kept giving me injections to wake me up. I tuned in again during a recess, at least enough to listen to what was going to happen next. Blood dribbled down my chin. One eye was swollen shut and the other nearly so, but I could still see. Jinx was crumpled on the carpet and I had to think. My brain was a little scrambled by the pain, but I needed to get it together.

Yes. The Joker had gotten frustrated with Jinx's unwillingness to comply. I'd been offered the opportunity to ask him to go along so the hurting would stop but I'd refused, first because I was afraid of what that would actually mean for me, and also because if the Joker got his claws into Jinx, he'd never get loose. And the Joker had made it clear that nobody would be leaving the building for quite some time. Escape wasn't possible.

Oh, yes, the building. It was a small office space, just two suites with a common room and kitchen, set to be demolished because of a black mold problem. But the demolition kept being pushed back for some reason... and office space was ADA-compliant, had been for centuries. The Joker and Harley lived in one of the suites. Against the law, but such a trivial violation....

I focused with an effort. The Joker was going on about an alternate plan since Jinx wasn't going to be useful. Dear god, was he dead? Had they killed him when he wouldn't agree? I couldn't tell from where and how Jinx was laying.

"Boss, he's here," a thug reported.

"Fine, bring him in," the Joker said, sounding bored.

A few minutes passed, then, "What the fuck is going on here, Joker?"

Wait. I knew that voice. With an effort, I raised my head and rolled it. Penguin.

"I told you already, I'm not going to partner with you. No on the smuggling, the drugs, the whorehouses, the gun running. No. I'm legit these days." There were padding noises and Penguin was looming over me. "In fact, you have made a major mistake. This is my son's girlfriend." His voice was furious and a knife appeared from somewhere to cut the ropes on my arms. He bent to do the same for my leg, then moved to the other side. I was really floppy and couldn't quite move yet with the pain screaming at me from everywhere. I wheezed a thanks and his hand rested briefly on my head.

"This son?" The Joker's voice was oily with amusement, and--

"Dad? Anna? Jesus Christ!" They'd brought in Nix. Dammit. Something was prodding my brain.

"I have more bargaining chips," the Joker said. "More friends. And, as it turns out, all I want you do is launder money for me through your strip clubs. So you can agree, or... I won't waste my time with your son." I rolled my head again to see a thug center the muzzle of a rifle between Nix's eyes.

"Fine," the Penguin agreed immediately. "On the condition that the kids will be released with no further harm to them."

The Joker considered this. "My son is no concern of yours," he said. "The girl.... well, I'm not sure about that either. But the other three. Why not." A thug left the room and I tried to think faster. There had to be a way to exploit this. I looked around at the sounds of more people joining us. Half the air in the room went out when they saw the tableau.

"Dad, no, Anna has to come too, she--" and a thug clubbed him. He fell to the floor, unconscious, and the Penguin raised his voice, yelling at the Joker, charging over to his wheelchair. And to my terror, Harley approached me. She'd watched the whole thing and done nothing.

"I beg you for sanctuary for my friends and me," I said. The words just popped into my weirdly clear brain and I said them. Why not? She looked utterly confused.

"Sanctuary? Don't think so, kid," she said, and raised her hand. Which held a knife. My hands started to tingle as she stepped toward me, two paces.

I screamed as gold flames erupted from my hands. It felt like everything was being dragged out of me. Harley's clothing and hair caught fire. Somewhere I found the strength to stand and turned to aim, the fire igniting some of those bastard thugs who still had my wet blood on them. Then the fire stuttered and vanished, but it was like my head was being directed to where my wrist was in my line of sight.

And in the blood was a faint silver shimmer.

The nanite armor. I managed to squeeze the sides of the bracelet, not hard, I couldn't close my fingers that much, and my fingertips were... a mess, but it responded to the faint pressure and my posture immediately improved as the nanites encased me. My first shot from the repulsor hit the back of the Joker's chair, frying its circuitry. The second one brushed his head. Dammit, not a clean shot. One of the thugs had the presence of mind to shoot me with a shotgun. The nanites absorbed the shot, but the armor was breaking down. And it didn't cover my legs, either, damn, ow. And I was out until the suit recharged. A shotgun was fired again.

But it was enough. The Penguin picked up a weapon and I could hear him shouting at my friends, taking advantage of the chaos. Ari gingerly picked me up, then charged for the door. The Penguin cleared a path with rounds from the weapon, and we burst into the bright sunlight. Right behind me was Justine, helping Mark with Nix, and the Penguin followed with Jinx. The street was empty. I couldn't see how we were going to get out of this one.

***

The second time I woke up, I was in a much better place. Wait, I knew this one. It was a hospital. Immediately I rotated my right foot. I looked around, feeling relief that the ankle was still ok. A hospital room, but not one meant for long-term occupancy. The bed was encased in curtains and I could hear activity outside, voices that were quiet, not agitated. I felt exhausted and really weird, the ghosts of pain and some real pain chasing along my nerves. But I wasn't restrained in any way, and could move enough to locate a call button. I could see out of both eyes now, aces.

A nurse whisked through the curtain and smiled at me. "Good, you're awake." She was in a crisp white old-fashioned uniform with a jaunty cap and I felt reassured just looking at her. She efficiently noted my vitals on her pad and asked me some questions. "Doctor will be right in," she said, and vanished. I didn't have long to wait. The curtain parted and a guy in a white coat entered and closed the curtain. I blinked in surprise to see Grandma Alex's brother.

"Uncle Jaimez?" He smiled slightly.

"Your friends brought you and a couple of boys in, we were apparently the closest clinic." He checked my vitals again. Wow, we'd been taken from Hell's Kitchen clear up to Fort George, in an area that gentrification hadn't hit yet.

"How's Nix and Jinx?"

"Jinx is still undergoing treatment, he had a couple of stab wounds, but he'll be fine," he said reassuringly. He sat on the foot of the bed. "Nix was treated and released. So tell me what happened, honey. I was really alarmed to see you brought in, to put it mildly. The waiting room is crowded. Our family, but also the parents of the boy and the police. We sent everyone else home. It looked to me like you've been tortured. I thought you were supposed to be at the SATs today."

I snorted. "Never thought I'd rather be taking a test. Some thugs broke into the school. We were sitting ducks in the hallway, the classrooms were all locked. They grabbed my friends and me, they were after Jinx and the rest of us were insurance, I think. And so while I don't know what happened up to that point, the Joker definitely has your sister in his sights. He wanted Jinx to follow him into his business. Jinx refused, and I was used to try to persuade him. Me as his friend. He didn't know who I was related to." I spoke quietly. He rubbed his head.

"I thought we were through with this," he muttered.

"And while I trust you, I don't know everybody here. Can my record be under my nickname Anna?"

"I'll see to it. In that case, I'm going to recommend that you talk at home rather than here. It'll probably mean that it will take longer but your privacy will be taken care of. So what happened to you, honey? I need to make sure we didn't miss anything."

I took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "They strapped me to a chair. They hit me first, then cuts. That's where they found my passive tracker and took it out." I took a moment to steady myself. That had really hurt. "Then they ripped off the fingernails on my left hand. They put these big copper clamps on my fingers. I figured out that they were hooked up to a battery." This time the pause was longer. "After that, they stopped. They gave me a shot a couple times to make me be conscious again. I was shot with shotgun pellets." As I spoke, he reviewed something on his pad.

"Ok, the lab detected traces of the medication they used. It's a legitimate medication with the maker's identifying markers in it to show its quality, and it's breaking down normally. There isn't any damage from that. There are markers in your blood that are consistent with what you're telling me, the newest set of results is showing that the medications we gave you are having their effect and taking care of damage on the cellular level deeper than where the tissue accelerator can reach. They're supporting your kidneys as they filter out the waste from damaged cells, for example. Physically, you're going to be ok, honey. We picked out the shot that hit your leg, hip, and butt. The tissue accelerator took care of all your cuts and bruising, the shotgun damage, and it's started to regrow your fingernails over the nailbed. They'll be tender for a few weeks, so no nail polish. I'd recommend that you get some light gloves and put some padding in them if you're going to do something like tennis or rowing for awhile, cushion your fingertips against pressure. You were hypoglycemic for some reason, but your blood sugar is back to normal after treatment with glucose. Now, I'm going to give you some sweats that the police left for you. They took your clothes for analysis. Take five minutes to clean up and I'll bring your dad back. We'll get you discharged." He came back with some light pink sweats and I dragged into the bathroom, scrubbing quickly. I was so tired. There were several washcloths and a couple towels waiting. They'd done some cleanup already, which helped a lot. I had a lot of real estate to cover.

I pulled on the sweats and when I went back out, my dad was waiting with Uncle J. "Oh, honey," he said, and his eyes filled. He hugged me carefully but I had the feeling he was never going to let me go. That was ok, I felt a lot safer. But eventually he let go, although he kept his arm around my shoulders and we sat on the edge of the bed.

"Ok, Daniel. She's free to go. I know you'll probably have her scanned again when you get home, but physically, she's fine." He smiled briefly. "It'll take a few days for her body to catch up with the healing, and until then she'll feel fatigued and need to eat more. I've also got a supplement I'd like her to take to help both with the supply of vitamins, minerals, and helpful compounds but also with the absorbency. Lys, you need to rest a lot, take the supplements, eat good food, take it easy. Watch your coffee intake, it's a diuretic and you need the water to help your cells and everything get back on track. The accelerator is astonishing, but even after it's done its work, the body still has to catch up. Let's get your signature on the medical release." I quickly scrawled my signature and pressed my finger to the pad, and Uncle J did the same.

"I'll stop by later after my shift," Uncle J said, and Dad nodded. "Meanwhile, my nurse just checked, and nobody has traced any of the kidnapping victims here, so no press." We stood up and Dad guided me through the door, following Uncle J out of the treatment area and down the hall to the waiting room. It was a surprisingly small crowd, fortunately; I wasn't up to seeing a lot of people right now. Uncle Tony from the family, and Uncle Richard, representing the police. His badge was on his belt. There was no conversation; Uncles Richard and Tony went out first. Dad got me in the family pod and we started off to the nearest launch pad to get home fast. I was feeling drowsy until I saw the time. It wasn't even noon.

"What's wrong, Lys?" Dad's voice was tight with concern.

"The time. We'd just be getting out of the test now. It should be later. It feels later."

"It's good that it isn't later," Dad said.

"Does anybody have my stuff?" I asked.

"Dick picked it up at the school. Well, your purse, anyway. We need to replace your communicator." I nodded and then just cuddled up to his side, content not to talk about it for a bit.


	14. Safe, not sound

When we got back to the house, Dad herded me into the library. To my surprise, Mom was already back. "I came as soon as I was told," she said, hugging me tightly before reluctantly loosening her grip and installing me on a sofa, shaking out a throw for my legs, and pulling up an ottoman. She sat beside me, holding my hand until Alan brought me some coffee. It was cafe au lait, actually, there was so much milk, but it tasted good. Dad pulled up a chair on my other side as I settled against the arm, grateful for the nest-like feeling. Then the others started to arrive, but fortunately not too many. There was Uncle Richard, Uncle Tony, who'd stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the supplements for me, and a man who Uncle Richard introduced as his boss, Captain Gordon.

"We're here to get your statement, Ms Wayne, and to tell you what we've discovered to this point," the Captain said. He was a tired looking man, but seemed really sharp. He was Returned, and had been a cop for a long time. "So let's get your statement." I took his through what happened at the school, the van, waking up in the office building, seeing Harley and the Joker. What happened later. I said what had been done to me, but not my reaction, and Captain Gordon didn't push. The arrival of the Penguin, how we all got out.

"When my team got to the office building the Joker was using, we found a shorted-out wheelchair but no Joker. It had been recording. We know that the Joker likes to have a record of times like these, and we looked for it specifically. It recorded up to the time it was shorted out. So I've got to ask, what did you do to Harley? It can't be what it looked like."

"What did it look like?" I asked cagily, and Mom took the empty cup from me and held my hand again.

"Like fire erupted out of your hands," he said baldly.

"That's pretty much what happened," I said.

"Mutation or superpower?" he asked briskly.

"God-touched." He looked puzzled, and I looked at Mom.

"I am Greek, from an antique and distinguished lineage," she said carefully. "The old gods have long taken an interest in my family. When Lys was born, she was blessed by Athena and Hestia." The Captain looked skeptical.

"Until recently it was thought that I had the gift that Athena gave me, which is to be able to see who is god-touched. That's what I call it, anyway, people who have been granted some kind of favor from a god. I see it as a kind of light. And that was my big party trick. But then I found out that I also had a gift from Hestia, which is to create a home. And that's been nice, it makes me good at interior decorating, I think. But when Harley walked toward me, my mind cleared--it was a little fuzzy from what happened before--really abruptly and I was told to ask for sanctuary. So I did, why not, and Harley refused. My hands and arms started to tingle, then a gold flame erupted out of them. So I know that it was a gift from the gods." Captain Gordon looked at Uncle Richard, who nodded, and he made a note on his pad.

"So Athena spoke to you, dearest?" Mom asked. "She told me to go home, which is why I am here in a timely manner." Captain Gordon's eyebrows jumped toward his receding hairline.

"No, it was Hestia," I said wearily.

"I thought Hestia was... nice," Uncle Tony said guardedly.

"She is," I defended her. "She gave up the possibility of her own home, marriage to Poseidon or Apollo, to tend the hearth of the gods, and by extension, all hearths. Although I don't really blame her, she probably escaped a lot of drudgery that way and had control over herself. It's thought that the state is a larger extension of the home, so she has an influence on statecraft as well as families. And the thing is that she's really serious about it. Her image is that of gentleness, someone easily overlooked, non-judgmental, modest, forgiving, light-hearted. And she is all of that, but also more. But this image dates back to antiquity where women were systematically marginalized, so it only tells part of the story. It was her habit to offer strangers shelter and protection. She didn't have temples, still doesn't. What she gets are sanctuaries in every city where the Olympians are worshiped. They're all public, open-air spaces with an eternal flame on the hearth, and people who need help come there. There's a small one here in New York, in Central Park. It looks like a white marble folly but for the flame which is attended constantly by one of her followers, who is also there to offer aid when requested."

"Ah," Mom said, who saw immediately where I was going with this.

"So when I asked Harley for protection, sanctuary, I was trying to incur the obligation of hospitality. If asked, a homeowner is obligated to comply, and Harley lived there, the obligation extended to her. But she refused, and in doing so, opened herself to the consequences." I shrugged. "The Joker is big on the consequences of actions. This was hers. She allowed people under her roof to be... tormented and encouraged it. This is antithetical to the laws of hospitality, and Hestia took offense."

"What did it feel like?" Captain Gordon asked after a moment, genuinely curious.

"It hurt. It felt like something was being dragged out of me, and that must have been why my blood sugar crashed. You can't make something from nothing, not even the gods." And why the flames didn't last long. My resources had been depleted all ready. And probably why I wasn't burned by them. "So...how's Harley?" I asked. "And the thugs?"

"Harley has extensive burns," he said gently. "She's in the hospital, and even today care for serious, widespread burns is difficult. She won't be getting out anytime soon, and her room is under constant surveillance, guards outside the single door and on the floors above and under the burn unit. I'm leaning toward the Joker abandoning her unless he has a use for her, though. So how do you know the Penguin?" he asked, getting the interview back on what was more familiar ground for him.

"My boyfriend is his son Nix. I met him last week, he wanted to see who his son was dating."

"You didn't mention that," Dad said, and I shrugged.

"It's only fair, you guys have met Nix. We went over to the Iceberg Lounge for maybe twenty minutes after school. I had a Shirley Temple, converted Nix to a fan, we chatted briefly about school and hobbies, nothing really personal. He knows me as Anna."

"Why is that?" Captain Gordon asked. "Your name is Lysippe, your mom calls you Lys." I looked over at Dad, who efficiently outlined why I'd decided to go by a different nickname when I went to my new school.

"Kids," was all the Captain said, shaking his head. "Now, what about that armor you were wearing? Where did that come from?"

"I made that," Uncle Tony said, raising his head.

"What armor?" Dad asked, confused.

"I thought you told them," I said to Uncle Tony, who looked blank.

"I thought I had."

"No," Mom said with commendable patience. So he told them. Uncle J had figured out how to get it to retract and had given it back to Uncle Tony, who'd been the first one to show up to the clinic.

"We were working on the passive locator," he said to me. "Signal cut off, but I was working my way up when I received the news you were at the clinic."

"They found the locator and removed it before smashing it," I said. I didn't look around. "So Uncle Tony made me nanite armor, but the resistors run on kinetic energy, good for one use at a time, and the armor can be damaged, although it held up nicely to the shotgun."

"Shotgun?" my mom asked, her voice rising in pitch alarmingly. Uncle Richard looked at her nervously.

"So why did you not use the armor earlier?" Captain Gordon asked.

"Because I knew it would break down, and all those people had guns! And my friends! I don't think I would have survived if I'd resisted earlier." I said, getting frustrated. "It covered my torso and arms and hips and my head, but not my face or legs. There were a lot of people around. It wouldn't have done any good before, and I forgot about it with everything else but I saw the silver and remembered. And it was a good time to use it." I wasn't going to tell anybody I had completely forgotten until my attention was focused on it by Hestia. I wanted to retain a scrap of personal dignity.

"You did pick a good moment, young lady," Captain Gordon said. "I don't know everything about what happened before the recording, but my team found a weapons cache on the premises. It could have been from my first lifetime, by the size and variety. We just don't see those these days. You were right to be cautious, and you seized your moment."

"What is being done to catch these criminals?" Mom barked, and Captain Gordon jumped.

"We're working on it. That wheelchair is a mother lode of information. I've got my top people working on it and members of my team are running down leads as they're generated. We are making every effort. In fact, I need to leave once I get Lysippe to sign the transcript of our interview." He handed over his tablet and I began reading.

"I also anticipate that the city's vigilantes will be running their own leads," he said dryly. "I doubt that the attack on the school will go over well, and I hope that Batman is going to remember that we will need to question any henchmen he runs across, not take them out of action for a week." I finished reading, signed and fingerprinted, and returned the tablet. "Grayson, don't take too long here. I will be in touch when I have news that's relevant to you," he told my parents, and my mom escorted him to the door. 

Uncle Richard waited until Mom came back. "Bruce is going to blow a gasket," he said mournfully. "Lys, you shouldn't be dating the Penguin's son. He's not an outright villain, but he is shady, he traffics in information. In addition to the Lounge, he owns a pair of strip clubs, one featuring male strippers and one with females, and a liquor distributorship. Historically, these businesses are ripe for corruption."

"Nix's opinion means a lot to his dad," I said. "And it's legal to own strip clubs, even if it's not really respectable. If Grandpa Bruce doesn't like it, he can kiss my ass. Mr Cobblepot saved my life. He cut the ropes tying me to the chair and was bargaining for not only his son's release but mine, Jinx's, and Mark, Ari, and Justine, who were in reserve. He got us out of there and then I guess to the clinic."

"You probably need to rethink your friendship with these kids," Uncle Dick said doggedly.

"Is that what you're telling Imogen?" I shot back. He looked vexed. "Not to be consorting with the kids of criminals? Not even criminals themselves, just their offspring."

"I will be," he said.

"What does it matter, really?" I asked angrily. "The first time I was kidnapped was because of my family. This time because of my friend's parents. I'm damned no matter what I do. And I'm not going to dump the best friends I have because of their families. None of us can control that, and they're not going to be criminals."

"There will be more safety measures, Lys, this is too dangerous." Dad's voice was hard, and I saw a tic start by his eye.

I was going to explode, but thought better of it. I took a couple of deep breaths instead. "You can do what you want for the next couple of weeks, Dad. But don't forget that I turn eighteen at the end of the month." The threat wasn't inconsiderable, and it hung over the room like a dangerous cloud. "I'm going upstairs. I need to rest."


	15. Reactions

I locked the door behind me, the first time I'd done that in months. But I didn't want anybody coming in. I was keyed up and tired, not a good combination, so I went to shower. The washing up that I'd done at the clinic just pointed out the parts that still felt grubby and gross. Once out of the shower, I put on warm, soft clothes, and called Dr Lance. She was in with another patient, but her receptionist said she'd call at the end of the session. I curled up in the window seat, looking out at the greening trees, the flowers, and kind of dozed off, but I woke immediately when I heard the communication chime. I hustled over to my desk and activated the camera.

"Hi, Lys," Dr Lance said cheerfully. "What's up?"

"This morning, at the SATs, the Joker kidnapped his son and five of his friends, which included me," I said. The smile fell off her face like it had never been there.

"Just a sec, Lys," she said, and the holding screen came on for a minute. "I needed to postpone a meeting. Tell me what happened at the school." I described the thugs squeezing the students from both ends of the hall, how there'd been no escape into classrooms, or anywhere else. How terrifying it was to be dragged out, my fear of all the guns.

"I shoot skeet," I said. "I picked it up when I was restricted here and I still do it when I can. I'm not afraid of guns, I guess, but I was terrified of the men with the guns. There were so many." She nodded understanding, and I explained about the van, the knockout gas, the offices. "So I don't think that anybody thought to check commercial properties, because it isn't legal to live there."

"Cunning," she muttered. And she led me through it, step by step, but I struggled when I had to describe the torture. And the humiliating parts, not just the painful ones, which I hadn't told anybody else about. After the second fist to my midsection, I'd thrown up all over myself. That was when they stopped hitting and started cutting. And when they'd been digging in my hand to extract the tracker, I'd lost control of my bladder.

"There's a break built into the testing," I muttered. "I'd planned for that." After they'd pulled out the tracker, they'd broken it, and they'd untied me after I'd wet my pants and marched me into the bathroom, a high-tech thing for the paraplegic, with a high pressure setting on the showerhead that blasted away the worst of it and a powerful air dryer. There'd been a gun pressing against my skull the entire time. Then I'd been marched out and retied to the chair, for the rest of it. How everything at the end had been so confusing; separate fights involving Harley and the Joker at the same time had split the attention of the thugs, something I'd been grateful for at the time. The kind expression she wore had become strained as I explained how I'd been rescued. Sometimes I had to stop, I was crying too much to talk, but she didn't hurry me along, she just let me go at my own pace. My throat, which had been treated at the clinic, was hurting again from speaking.

"You were so tough, Lys," she said at the end. "You made the most of your opportunities, a hero couldn't have done better."

"That's not true," I objected. "They have training, they know how to fight."

"You almost got out," she pointed out. "And the odds were not in your favor. Even many heroes can't do much with the number of henchmen that you've described. You were badly hurt, too. You can be very proud of yourself." She pointed out other things that she said I could be proud of, and she was a hero herself, she was giving me her honest analysis. It still didn't help much. If I'd have been better, stronger, less afraid, I could have done more.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Dad's trying to trap me here for the rest of my natural life. And I knew he'd take that approach; in the pod I felt safe snuggled up to him, and I wished it could be just that way. But I can't stay here like that and his attitude makes it harder just to enjoy being around him. It's just not actually just me, who I am, anything that I've done, it's my relation to other people. Nobody's wanted to kidnap me or anything because I made them mad or they're looking for revenge on me. I told Dad that he can do what he wants, but to remember that I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks. I don't want to do anything drastic, not right now when I'm so... off-balance, nothing I'll regret. I love my family, but I deserve the opportunity to live my life too. And there are my friends to think about too, we're all traumatized, even the ones who weren't in that room with the Joker. It would have been them too, if there'd been enough time."

And we talked about that for a bit. She seemed pleased that I wasn't going to go off the deep end or do... some undefined stupid thing, I guess, and we set up another appointment in a couple of days. 

I went to wash my face and put eyedrops in; my throat hurt again and now I didn't have any of that nice numbing healing spray that Uncle J'd used in the clinic. Then it was back to the window seat; the shadows were starting to lengthen on the lawn. What a shitty day. The only one that had been worse had been the day my ankle was broken. I was starting to nod off again when I heard footsteps, which paused outside the door. I wanted to groan, but I'd been up here for several hours, so I got up and silently slid the bolt before opening it. Mom and Deri were outside, Deri looking freaked. Mom touched my cheek and smoothed my hair.

"How are you, dearest?" she asked anxiously.

"I called Dr Lance," I said, and she relaxed and took a deep breath.

"I was going to ask that you consider working with her again." It seemed weird to be talking in the hall, so I stepped back to let them come in. Deri flung her arms around me in a sort of tackle-hug, and I just hung on too because it felt good. Dang, she was getting tall. Then Mom put her arms around us for a group hug. That was nice too. Mom smoothed my hair again.

"I wanted to know if you'd like your dinner up here, Lys," she said, and I shook my head.

"I'll come down," I said.

"Good." She kissed my cheek, and we went downstairs. Cocktail hour was all topsy-turvy, it was almost over. Dad looked up when we came in, then he came over for a hug.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do, Lys?" he asked as he went over for a glass of water for me. I looked to the heavens briefly.

"No, I've been talking with Dr Lance. How can I make plans if I don't know how reasonable you're going to be, anyway?"

"It's not unreasonable for a father to want to keep his little girl safe," he said, and when I opened my mouth to protest the designation, he continued. "But I recognize that if I try to keep you too close, you'll leave and might not come back. I don't want that, so I am hoping to come to some sort of accommodation with you." I relaxed.

"That sounds like something I can work with," I said, and went over for another hug. I hated to be at odds with my dad, but I couldn't let him stunt my growth. Then it was time for dinner, and I started drinking water in earnest. I hadn't upstairs and I felt kind of wrinkly and dehydrated. I took my supplement and dove into the chicken pot pie, excellent comfort food and stuffed with lots of vegetables. There was a salad to go with it, tasty and light, which was good because my stomach was still a little upset. Not barf-worthy, just upset with the day's activities. Deri had gone on a nature walk with the Girl Scouts, and I wanted to hear about that. And now I remembered that Mom had gone to London to witness the latest petition from the Greeks for the repatriation of the Elgin Marbles, to see what the approach was and whether the Met could expect a similar petition for objects in their collection.

"So how did that go?" I asked, expecting the same negative result they'd had for centuries.

"Oh!" Mom said, smiling oddly. "I had almost forgotten. The Greek Cultural Minister showed up, delivered some opening remarks, then turned it over to three dignitaries who had accompanied him. They were oracles of the gods, and two of them hosted divine presences. The first was Zeus, who said that the bloodlines who owned these treasures--the Athenians--had never been asked for their permission, and while it had been nice of the British to shelter them, it was past time to return them. He was sparking lightning the whole time, it was very impressive. Then an oracle hosted Athena, who personally made the demand that her defiled temple be made whole. Amazingly, the museum and government officials still refused her!" Wonder colored her voice.

"Irritated beyond measure at their intransigence, she said she understood why they were loathe to lose a chief attraction for which people paid them money to see... and then she took her true form, visible to all in her full might and terrible glory in the mortal realm for all to see for the first time in centuries. It was difficult to look at her. She commanded the return of the marbles. And still they refused! It was as if they were hounded by Aite in their folly. She said that they would regret their greed, and as Zeus himself came into being, other Olympians did as well. Clever Hephaestus, bright Apollo, keen Artemis, bountiful Demeter, welcoming Dionysus, mighty Poseidon, powerful Hades, busy Hermes, matronly Hera, and seen for the first time since Egypt, vengeful Ares. Zeus expressed his displeasure with the officials and said that they would discover what it was to be forsaken by the gods, for although in their original, more powerful form they had not been worshipped in those isles, their lesser Roman guises had been, and that worship still has power there. Then they ignored the officials, went to where the marbles were on display, and they laid their hands upon the sculptures and removed them from display.

"Then Athena paused, told me that I was needed at home, and the gods and the marbles faded from this plane. I heard from colleagues not an hour later, right when I had arrived home, that the sculptures had been placed on the ground below the places on the Parthenon that they had been fashioned to fit. The gods stood, possibly pleased by the excitement and devotion that their presence commanded, then returned to Olympus. Athena stayed and gave her priestess orders that the new sculpture, copies of the originals, be removed, kept in Greece, and the originals restored to their prominence. Then she too left."

"Wow," I said.

"Exactly," she agreed.

Dessert was yummy brownies, and I avoided the coffee in accordance with Uncle J's instruction. "I'm going to go up early," I said, making a little bet with myself.

"Before you go up, honey, I'd like it if you'd go downstairs and just have a quick scan, make sure everything's all right," Dad said. Hah. I'd won a second brownie off myself. It was easy to indulge him and I went down to the cave where the AI pronounced a lack of damage. Dad put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the stairs. "Tony will be by tomorrow with some new inventions," he said. "He feels terrible that his efforts didn't protect you better." I snorted.

"The Bob fob was in my purse, which I couldn't get to once I was grabbed, and I was too scared to make a run for it anyway. It was a fluke that they found the passive tracker, and I frankly forgot about the armor until the end. But it did protect me at a crucial time. Maybe if I'd kept my head better I could have done more."

"You did a great job, honey, and I couldn't be prouder of you. You didn't do anything stupid or careless. I don't agree with Dick, I'm not going to ask you to stop seeing your friends. You're all going to need each other as things play out here. I'll tell you what I'm going to tell your friends' parents, though--I've been in contact with them and I intend to let them know if they want to relocate or if they need to change employment, Wayne will hire them. We have locations all over the world doing a lot of things, it won't hurt to add them, and they won't have any trouble getting time off to deal with this. Everybody needs to do what's best for them, but it never hurts to have options." He steered me into the kitchen, where I snagged a brownie for later.

"I don't know how hard it is for you," I said as we walked to the elevator. "But I'm glad that you're not thinking of trying to turn me into Rapunzel."

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he said. "I would gladly take your hurts on myself to spare you the pain. But I can't. So I'm going to make sure that you're as equipped as possible for life off the estate, and make sure that you always have someplace to come home to."

"Thanks, Dad," I said after a moment. I felt that this had been a really hard conclusion for him to come to.

"I talked to Dinah too," he said, smiling slightly. "So Tony will come by with his latest and greatest tomorrow, then his usual upgrades as he thinks of them."

"Business as usual," I said, smiling too.


	16. Disintegration

I slept in the next morning, foregoing rowing even though we had just gotten back on the river. I would have to do something about padding my fingertips so I could do my activities, but I was still just tired. When I went downstairs, Alan fixed me pancakes and sausage, and I had my fruit and vegetable smoothy for some better nutrition along with the supplement. I only had to take those for three days, fortunately; I had to take three of them a day and they were honkin' big. I was contemplating asking for an additional sausage as I ate the last one I'd been served when Dad came in. He stroked my hair and told me that Uncle Tony was here, talking with Mom.

I was shocked when I saw him; he looked like he hadn't slept, hair messed up, bags under his eyes, and grimness emphasized the lines in his face. He seemed to need a hug, so I supplied one. He hugged me back hard, then herded me over to the sofa by the desk, where a bundle rested. He unfolded the first layer of what I could now see was spongy, protective cloth, and handed me a new communicator. "This one is tougher, harder to smash," he said with no preamble. "In the even that it is crushed, it has a small, separate battery that will be triggered five minutes after the destruction of the main battery, and it has enough energy to send warning messages to preset numbers, which include your parents and me. If the main battery is damaged, it will send a different message, stating that the device has been compromised, telling the receiver to get in touch with you to make sure that it wasn't an accident. If it gets dropped in the street, for example, and a pod runs over it, that's the kind of thing that will set this alert off. You can still use it if it's damaged in this way; in fact, unless it has its guts coming out, you should be able to use it. A screen alert will show; if you tap in 939, it will stop the alert and reassure the recipients. If the screen isn't usable, you can still speak the code for the same effect. I couldn't recover all the data from your previous communicator, but I pulled off what I could." Nine was my favorite number, and three squared equalled nine, so it was easy to remember. He pulled out a slender metal box, with compartments like you see in pill reminders, and popped open the first one.

"This is a tracker that responds to stress hormones in your blood. If they exceed a certain quantity for a certain duration--past a momentary scare--your emergency contacts will be alerted. This is also a passive locator device, Alex has one that's similar. It has to be placed just poking into a major blood vessel, one in the pelvis is recommended because the bone provides additional protection to the sensor. It goes off, we start to look." He popped open the second compartment. "This is an active transmitter, but it uses an uncommon frequency, so it's less likely to be tracked. I suggest that this be implanted in the side of one of your fingers, so that in case it's extracted in a hostile manner, it won't be too difficult.

"This is a padded glove," he said, producing an unappealing white thing. "Rogers whipped it up for you last night. It's chameleon fabric, so it will match your skin tone when you put it on and shouldn't draw attention. It's got medical-grade silicone cushioning in the tips. Try it on." I did; the fabric felt silky and cool, and the pads in the fingertips were snug without being tight. I prodded one of my fingers and couldn't feel anything, so I tapped my fingers. No pressure, no pain. I looked around and grasped the post for the floor lamp next to the desk to simulate holding an oar or racquet; it was really good. I smiled, and the corner of Uncle Tony's mouth lifted slightly. He handed me a new bracelet, larger than the old one, which I'd kind of anticipated.

"This is new armor," he said. "Stand up and try it." I put it on, stood, and squeezed the sides. As expected, the nanites flowed over my body. "What can you tell me about it?" he asked.

"It's thicker," I said immediately, and he nodded. "It also covers a lot more of me." This time it looked like a suit for an endurance athlete; the suit came down to just above my knees so that the protective area was greater. There was also a mask that extended from just under my cheekbones to just above my eyebrows, providing protection and a display. "There's information from a visual input," I said. The three others in the room were picked out in green. There were little targeting symbols on each figure, showing me where to aim.

"Threats--determined by people holding weapons--are shown in red, unknowns in yellow. Take out the threats immediately," he directed. "And practice. I didn't tell you to, and you might have been reluctant to, maybe worried about wearing it out. But practice won't damage it, and you'll have more confidence in using the armor and resistors if you're more familiar with their performance." He was right; I'd thought that the resistors could wear out. "The armor is more durable than you may expect. It takes some time to produce the nanites, or more of you would be covered." 

"It's still really pretty," I said. The enamel-look was lovely.

"That's part of the protection," he said. "Shuri and Carolyn have been working with me to develop a glass using vibranium and my nanites. This is their latest effort, the first one to incorporate the vibranium successfully. It should provide a little more protection."

"I hope I never have to use them, Uncle Tony, but this feels like a big step up, defense-wise. Thank you."

"I hope not too, honey," he said, and I retracted the armor before going for a hug. He really looked like he needed it.

"There's a skeet range on the estate; I've been using it just for fun, but I can easily practice with the clay pigeons, get used to moving targets." He squeezed me carefully, then let go.

"That sounds great, Lys. Just be sure you practice."

"We are very appreciative of your concern," Mom said, coming up to pat his shoulder. "I feel much better knowing that Lys is defended with your work." Uncle Tony smiled slightly. I heard a murmur outside, and Alan showed Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian in.

They came over to examine me, although what they were looking for I don't know. Uncle J does great work, and outwardly I was unmarked by the... experience. Grandpa Damian couldn't help himself and cuddled me before stroking my hair and dropping a kiss on my head. Grandma Alex just looked somber, before and after she hugged me.

Her unexpected reserve was destroyed with a string of quite remarkable, impressive profanity. It was eyeopening to hear it, both educational and out of character for her. Uncle Bucky had been a formative influence on her in more than one way, I gathered, because although he didn't swear often, when he got going, his handling of obscenities was that of a master. "Dickless bastard," she finished up.

"If you're quite done, Grandma?" Dad said dryly.

"I think so," she said after a moment, like she'd been testing whether she'd gotten it all out. "Fucker," she muttered, one last cuss. "J wouldn't say what your injuries were, Lys, just that you'd been fixed up. The Joker didn't rape you, did he?" I knew that this was her personal nightmare.

"No," I said honestly. "He might not be able to anymore, it depends on where you severed the spinal cord. It was just a spot of old-fashioned torture." I grimaced, remembering how much he'd liked it.

"I leaned on Dick to see part of the police report," Grandpa Damian said. "The injuries of the hostages aren't part of the general report; they're protected in part by privacy laws, so what happened to you isn't common knowledge, Lys. Dick did say that both your friends were successfully treated, though. Did Penguin really get you out of there?"

"Yes," I said immediately. "Nix took me to meet him, so he knew who I was--Anna, anyway--and he got me free of the ropes immediately. He was negotiating with the Joker to take me with him when one of his thugs brained Nix, which is when he charged over to confront him directly."

"It's easy to underestimate Penguin," Grandpa said thoughtfully. "You expect him to be slow because he's overweight and kind of pretentious, but he's self taught in judo, ninjutsu, bare-knuckle brawling, and fencing, and he's very good. He's got gadgets built into either umbrellas or walking sticks, the canes are a recent affectation, at least post-Return. He's been a match for Dad in the past, but he prefers to rely on his wits and intimidation for the most part. Don't let your gratitude blind you to his nature, Lys."

"I think that his behavior is due to his desire for his son to respect and admire him," I said, shrugging. "If anything happened to Nix, I think he'd shed that immediately." Grandpa nodded, and Grandma touched my cheek.

"Dick said that the doctors think that Harley will make it," she said. I didn't want to admit that I had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I was glad that I hadn't taken a life, but she had probably been about to kill me, and if it was her or me, I'd choose me any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Plus she was a terrible mom, look what she'd done to Jinx.

Deri came in, attracted by the voices, and she helped talk to the relatives. More were arriving; representatives from different branches of the family. Grandpa Mark and Aunt Amy, some of the cousins, so as to convey caring without more adults. And finally, everybody left and I went outside to enjoy the nice day. I hadn't seen the outside once when I'd been in the office building. John came out, and all he said was that he was there if I wanted to talk but I'd probably had enough of that already. I was glad my friend was back. We lazed around a bit, but then there was homework. Sigh. And that night, Alfred put in the trackers.

The next day, I was surprised to find myself reluctant to go back to school. The school board had authorized more security and promised parents we'd be safe. There was an announcement during calculus that the SATs were rescheduled for the coming Saturday. "Ugh," I muttered. "Maybe I should just apply to schools that don't use them."

"Europe's looking pretty good," John muttered back.

We got our lunches and sat down with our friends. We'd talked on Sunday, but we'd all been kind of freaked out and the conversations had been brief. I'd assured myself that Nix and Jinx were ok, and everybody had been offered counseling. There were really good victim counselors at the police.

Appallingly, though, we got into an argument. I was asked why I hadn't used my suit sooner, why I hadn't helped out Nix and Jinx. I said I'd done the best I could. "It's not a full Iron Man suit," I hissed. We were all keeping our voices down, so there was a lot of hissing and strident whispering going on. "I did the best I could at the time. I'm not a hero."

"Obviously," Mark said. "Jinx took all afternoon to fix up." I gasped.

"Heroism isn't hereditary," Ari said, and that really hurt.

"No more than villainism is," I shot back. "I'm not blaming anybody for being rounded up."

"Ok, everybody, let's just calm down," Imogen said. "We're all upset--"

"Why are you upset?" Jinx asked. "You were safe in the toilet."

"At least it wasn't my asshole parents--" she said hotly. And accusations flew.

Nix worked his fingers free where we'd been holding hands. "One thing's true," he said to me. "You were only taken because you were there with us. So I'm breaking up with you. I'm not going to be responsible for you getting hurt again." He got up and left. I gaped at his back, and bit my lip to control my response.

"Well, that's the end of your charmed life, Princess," Justine said to me.

"What?" I stared at her. My voice wobbled; I hadn't expected that from her. "Don't forget that it was me getting tortured, beaten, cut, electrocuted, my fingernails ripped out, while you were twiddling your thumbs in that office. But I can take a hint. I'm not hanging around just to be blamed and insulted." I got up, my lunch half-eaten, and strode away.

I heard John say. "Nobody here is to blame for anything, and you've just lost a friend who'd be with you to the end. And me," before I got out of earshot. He caught up with me at the tray return, dumped his lunch in the compost bin, and held the hall door for me.


	17. Actions

I made it through the rest of the day outwardly ok, but inside I was absolutely fuming. I had tennis after classes, so I got to work out some frustration. Not a lot, because I got too aggressive and the other players complained, so I dialed it back down. After that I had a quick and early dinner before going to work. But between dinner and work, I detoured to the florist my parents preferred and sent Mr Cobblepot a bonsai and a box of top-shelf chocolates for saving me. I was a lot more discreet than that on the card, though. If Nix hadn't dumped me, I'd have thanked Mr Cobblepot in person, but... I was still so mad that even work, usually a refuge, didn't do much for me and I had to make a substantial effort to be helpful and cheerful. It wasn't great that my coworkers wanted to know what had happened--the incident had made the news. All in all, I was grateful to go home.

AI Tony just shook his little head when I updated him on the events at school. "Why are your friends taking it out on you, do you think?"

"Because they've been friends with Jinx a lot longer, so I'm an easier target," I sighed. "They don't understand the limitations of the armor, I'm not trained for that sort of thing. Do you think that they actually thought I'd be a hero?" I frowned. "Because there's nothing heroic about me. They know that, all I want to do is live my life."

"They were scared and worried too," AI Tony said gently. "It's hard not to hope for rescue in a situation like that." I nodded, I'd been damned glad when Mr Cobblepot had shown up, hoping that a grownup would rescue me. Then I paused, thinking about that. I was almost eighteen now, in a few weeks I'd be an adult. Maybe I needed to stop thinking like that. Adults didn't magically have all the answers. I put that away to think about later.

"I couldn't even save myself," I said, depressed. "I still got hurt, they shot me."

"Unfortunately, the nanites take a long time to make," AI Tony said. "And Tony has to keep up his armor too."

"I wasn't blaming him," I said, startled. "The armor took a lot of punishment meant for me, stopped the shotgun pellets from hitting my upper body too. I'd have been far worse without it."

"You know Tony," the little AI said. "He takes the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"The person whose fault this is is the Joker," I said, laying my head back on the chair rest. "And the thugs who carry out his orders. Nobody else." And I firmly believed that. "We're only responsible for our own actions. And inaction, too, I guess, since a person chooses inaction, not to act." We talked about other things after that, which helped lighten my mood a bit.

Alan had some decaf and some of the little cake squares that were frosted in buttercream and rolled in chopped peanuts that I loved when I got home, and I chatted a little with my parents before going up. I had a late session with Dr Lance, which I was really looking forward to. I needed to dump the mess at lunch on somebody who could give me tips on how to deal with it. My parents... well, I didn't want to give my dad any more reasons to coddle me.

Which is what I told Dr Lance. "There's nothing that they can do anyway. I have to tell them eventually, they're going to notice that my friends have dropped out of my life and it will require an explanation. But I can figure out a way to tell them that's more neutral than the way I feel now. My dad will be hurt for me."

"It's something else that he can't fix," Dr Lance said. "And it isn't just because he's your dad. He might not be Batman anymore, Lys, but he's been trained to care about other people's problems from a very young age. It's not something that just goes away when you retire the suit." I considered this a bit.

"I never thought about it like that," I said.

"Something to consider. I know your mom's been out with Bruce trying to find traces of the Joker, but she's not a detective, she knows less about how to hunt up her quarry. Usually her villains are a lot less subtle. It's pretty frustrating for her. So what do you think about what those kids did?"

"Well, I'm hurt," I said. "I expected better from them, that we'd get through the fallout together. And Nix." I shook my head. "That's so stupid. We were all taken because we could possibly be used as leverage against Jinx. They apparently recognized Nix as Penguin's son and used him to get Penguin's compliance, which did work. The rest of us weren't anything special. It had nothing to do with whose son Nix is. It's so frustrating! I did the best I could, I told Jinx not to cave into the Joker, and that cost me a lot in pain, I can tell you. But the small things that I was able to do were just totally ignored." I started to cry despite myself.

"It's going to hurt, even more because it's unjustified," Dr Lance said gently. "If you felt that their criticisms were founded in truth, it would be easier to be accused." I nodded, snuffling into tissue. New layers of trauma were revealing themselves. It wasn't just that I'd been tortured and humiliated, it was now also about how helpless I'd been, trying and failing to help my friends. The terror of the scene in the high school, being taken hostage. And, since this was confidential, I felt safe in talking about the resentment I'd felt for the ones who'd been left in the office during the horror show. They'd been terrified, yes, but unharmed, and they dared to blame me? So we talked about these new issues as they surfaced, and I had homework to work some of these things on my own, making notes of things I wanted to talk about or was stumped about for our next session.

After we hung up, I went out the window and onto the roof. The stars were faint but there, and as always, the immensity of the galaxy was calming. My problems were literally nothing in the greater expanse of the universe. In two years, five, ten, twenty, what would this moment mean for me? Possibly its significance would have worn off. I'd have lost another set of friends. Well, that was nothing new. I still had John, and there were Rob, Rain, and Arch, and acquaintances that I was making in tennis and rowing, the photography club. Even the sidekicks that I'd met. I knew that I wasn't alone, that I did have support, and that life goes on, regardless of whatever catastrophes happened to me. the even was already in the rearview mirror. I snorted. 'Princess,' my ass. I'd been given a lot, but I'd had a lot taken as well. My sense of security, my feeling that I belonged. At least it wasn't as bad as before, when I was hanging onto... sanity? That sounded so melodramatic, and I was trying to be adult about this. Well, whatever happened in the wake of my birthday party. I had a lot more tools now, thanks to Dr Lance, so I could cope a lot better.

I heard whooshing sounds, and sat up, seeing Grandma Alex flying toward me. Slowly, so I waved. She came right over, landing lightly on the roof, and sat down beside me. "Hi, Grandma," I said, and scooted over to lean against her.

"Hi, Buttercup," she said, putting both her arm and her wing around me. "How was school today?"

I told her about my friends, then the news that the SATs were that Saturday. "It seems unjust to require us to take them," I said broodily, and she made a small sound of mirth.

"Nobody screws with the college application process," she said. "I think Miles wanted to dance in part because it meant that he wouldn't have to deal with that." I snorted, amused. He could always go to college later, if he wanted, but you could only dance for so long, and it would be a waste of his brilliance not to be in a company for any length of time. We talked a little more; she had no new ideas for dealing with my (former) friends, but encouraged me to develop new friends. She was right, there were other nice people at school, I was in activities.

"So what's your dad doing?" she asked. "Any restrictions?"

"No, we're both trying to be reasonable," I said. "I have two chips in me, I'm more identifiable than a microchipped pet." She laughed. "He's seen the armor Uncle Tony made for me, he knows about my pod... realistically, there just isn't much more that can be done about my safety." She nodded soberly. "But if he has any requests, I'll listen to them and we can talk. The one I'm worried about most is Uncle Tony. He looks like hell."

"Tony takes too much responsibility on himself," she said, sighing. "He just wants you to be safe, and he feels awful that his tech failed you." She held up her other hand when I would have protested. "I know, it's not rational, but Tony's ability to be logical when his emotions are in play is somewhat... compromised. He doesn't always know what to do with his feelings. But I'll talk to Ann and Damian, too, see what we can do." I felt better. "I just don't know why these things happen to you, honey. It's nothing that you do." She shook her head regretfully.

"I'm just a trouble-magnet," I said, trying for some lightness. She snorted.

"Well, let's see if that streak of bad luck can't be broken," she said. and after some chat about completely unrelated things, she stood up and flapped off, and I went back down to my room. I still wasn't relaxed enough, so I put on my swimsuit, grabbed goggles, a cap, and a towel, and went down to the salt-water swimming pool for some laps. I didn't worry about drowning, a logical progression in my trouble-magnet life; there was redundancy in the program that surveilled the pool and set off an alarm if it looked like someone was drowning. A half an hour later, many soothing laps swum, I went upstairs, rinsed off the salt, and went to bed.


	18. Gifts

I felt more optimistic when I woke up the next morning. And my fingernails felt better, I wondered if the salt water helped with that. Rowing was good, and I felt more centered when I came in off the river. I thought that maybe, after a good night's sleep, everybody might just have calmed down and realized that we were stronger together, as friends.

Alas, no.

The classes I had in common with them didn't help. They ignored me in them, so I decided to go with anger over hurt. I'd kind of hoped that now that Imogen was my cousin, that might at least salvage that relationship, but she went along with the herd.

Fine.

I ate lunch with John, Arch, Rain, and Rob, and we talked about the upcoming lifeguarding course (I was working that day and couldn't help, so I'd lined things up with the Red Cross, did what I could to help register students. And we talked about prom a bit; John had been asked, Arch was bringing a girl from another school, and Rain and Rob also had dates. They'd all heard about what happened over the weekend, and John filled them in about the unfortunate lunch.

"Anna, find some guy to go with," Rob said. "You know a lot of guys, and you deserve to go and have fun and look pretty for once." I looked at him, taken aback and a little offended--I tried hard to look nice on a daily basis--and he ran through what he'd just said, flushing red. "Have fun. Look prettier--no. Um. You always look pretty. You know, get dressed up for a special occasion."

"And at least this time my dad's cloak won't glom onto you," Arch muttered, making me smile.

It was a real situation; freshman prom was this weekend, sophomore prom the next, so less than two weeks to find a guy who'd be willing to be seen in public with me. It sounded like a tall order; a lot of people had already been asked and pickings were slim. I spent the next few days asking a few guys I got along with in activities, but nobody said yes.

It was frustrating, and I just decided not to go. I had enough on my plate with therapy, sports, and work. And I was kind of worried about the SATs--not the knowledge part, by now I could do it or not--but what might happen. And that was stupid, lightning never strikes twice. But I stopped by the temple complex on my way in for the test that morning, and made offerings to Apollo, god of knowledge, Athena, goddess of strategy, wisdom, and intelligence, and to Hestia, for helping save me. I felt badly that it had taken me this long. And then, having done everything I could, I went to school, where there was a significant police presence--enough to reassure, not enough to freak anybody out. Procedures had changed too; we were sorted by last names and we all went to different halls in the school. We were allowed to go into the classrooms and the doors locked behind us until it was time for the bathroom break. This time, though, I hadn't had nearly as much to drink.

The test went off without a hitch this time, and I wasn't nearly as fussed about it before as I had been the week before. I felt that I did pretty well, and that was good enough for me. From there, I went to a tennis match; the state-wide authority had recognized that some of the athletes had to take the test, so they'd agreed to let someone from our teams sub in for the first round. I arrived just in time to warm up and take the court with my partner. We did well enough to advance to the third round; there were four rounds at this meet (it was giant) and my partner and I'd never gotten this far before. One of the coaches went over some things with us, and we went into the stands to watch teammates while we waited for our next match. And that was where I found out that Nix had found a date for prom, a girl on the team. She was taller than I was, with a great figure, vivacious. She was also kind of a bitch, which balanced out her charms pretty well. My jaw jutted out a bit as I heard her coo about her date and sent a hail-mary text. It had some background information and the request for a date.

It took until I had to go get ready for the semifinals before I got a response; to my great relief, it was positive. My partner and I got last-minute coaching, and we wiped the court with the other pair. I was playing more aggressively and it paid off. My partner and I were going to the finals.

We lost.

But the other pair was a lot better than we were, so there wasn't any shame to it, and we'd played our best. And second place beat third and fourth. We got small gold-tone trophies to take home, the first I'd ever won. So it was a really good day, all in all. Mom and Deri had shown up to see me play--Dad was on a business trip--so I even had witnesses. At dinner, I told Mom that I had a date for prom, and she immediately called his mom.

"Jon Kent's your date?" Deri asked, wide-eyed. "I'm so jealous. He's really cute."

He certainly was. And we got along well when he wasn't bugging me about the hero thing, so we'd have fun. We planned so that he'd come up the day before after school, stay with us, and go home on Sunday. "Don't want to rumple the suit," he said self-consciously.

The next week was my birthday. It was marked by a visit with my parents to the lawyers, where I signed some papers and just like that, was a fully-vested member of the family trust. My share was placed in a separate bank account and the educational trust was ready and waiting for me when I decided where I wanted to go to college. There was no party beyond the family, who came over for cake and ice cream and presents. Low key, like my seventeenth had been. But the next day, I went to the DMV and took a driving test, which meant that I could take a family pod to the prom and not have to have a driver. That would be more fun. I'd been practicing on the estate, and it wasn't much work. There was an autopilot, anyway, and I promised the parents that I'd use that rather than driving until I got more used to it. No point in risking an unfortunate accident on prom night. Although with Superboy (incognito) as my date, risk of any kind was pretty low.

I'd decided to wear the blue dress Uncle Steve had made for me; it was almost the same color as Jon's eyes, so that was nice, but more importantly, I felt amazing in it, which is what I needed for the evening. I consulted with Uncle Tony regarding a boutonniere because he has really good taste, and decided on a small, thin calla lily and streamlined greens. There was a lily that was white on the outside and purple down the throat, so it would coordinate with my dress but not be too matchy.

I think my friends were relieved that I'd been able to find a date, even if I'd had to import him. I went in to Gina to touch up my roots--I still had one more meet, a much smaller one, and I hadn't won enough to qualify for State. This year. I told her about the dance and she colored the underlayer of my hair a charcoal with licks of deep blue. When I put it up, it would look like a hot coal, so that would be kind of neat, and wouldn't be too distracting with my dress. Friday took forever to get here, the way it always does when you're anticipating something good, but I left my last class with a feeling of relief. We didn't have much in the way of homework for the weekend; all I had left was a proofreading of my English term paper, ten pages analyzing emerging contemporary poets. What a nightmare. The form had no relation to anything I recognized as poetry, but I'd wanted to stretch myself. That had been stupid.

It turned out that Superman arrived with Jon, just in time for cocktails, so I took Jon up to the same room he'd had before when the Hall had been destroyed, and he dropped his bag before rejoining us. Superman was going to talk to Batman and Wonder Woman while he was here, making it not as obvious that he was dropping off his kid for an activity. They wanted to check with Aunt Serena about the construction of the new Hall as well; they were aided by the fact that she still had the blueprints for the renovation so she wasn't starting from scratch. She and Grandma Alex were making changes, though, unencumbered by a Historical Building designation. It would look sensational and be superfunctional and up-to-date. After dinner, the adults went down the road to Grandma and Grandpa's, where they'd consult with the architect and Grandma Alex, and John came over.

Deri, Van, John, Jon, and I went to the games room and entertained ourselves; Van and Deri played an ultra-competitive street racing game, and Jon, John, and I played pool; two at a time with the third watching and heckling. Alan came in with coffee and dessert, and we had a really good time. I had a surprise call from Stacey, the girl who'd asked John to the dance, and stepped out of the room to take it. She said she wanted to make sure that John didn't have any allergies to the flowers she'd gotten for his lapel, but the real purpose of the call was to make sure that she hadn't stepped on my toes by asking him out. It was a little late, but nice of her regardless. I reassured her that John and I were just friends and she relaxed. We got to chatting after that; she was a nice girl with a rather irritating giggle but I'd never talked to her much, and in the end, we agreed to double date. I think she was nervous about going out with John. I said I'd see if I could add to my dinner reservation, and called her back when I was successful. I wanted to be sure the restaurant would be in her price range; it was a good restaurant, not terribly expensive, but not everybody had my resources. She said that she'd wanted to got here but hadn't had an occasion to justify it and seemed excited with our plans. We agreed on a timetable, and I went back into the room, where the boys were just racking the table in preparation for a new game.

"We're going to double date," I informed them. "That was Stacey, John's date," I added to Jon.

"Why did she call you?" John asked.

"I think she's nervous about going out with you," I explained.

"It's true that I was surprised she asked me, I barely know her," John said. "She seems really nice, though." I nodded.

"It's probably the accent," I told him, and he laughed.

"Girls do love a British accent."

"This will be fun," Jon said, and I explained the change in plans. Good thing we have family-sized pods that could accommodate us all.

John went over to adjudicate a dispute with the racing game and Jon and I played. "I really appreciate you coming all the way up here to bail me out," I said.

"Your ex has rocks in his head," he said calmly. "I understand that he is concerned and worried, but there's strength in numbers. Still, it means that I get to go to a different prom with a great girl. My friends at school are impressed that you thought enough of me to ask, and Wally's jealous. So there's that too." He grinned. I smiled too.

"I'm sorry, are you missing your prom?" I asked, struck by the thought a little late.

"No, our school is on a slightly different schedule than yours," he said. "Ours was last week, it was fun. I'm looking forward to seeing what you guys do up here." We chatted a bit about school and our summer plans (Jon was interning at the Daily Planet).

"So how do you like Montana?" I asked. I knew that the heroes had all taken their sidekicks out to the new Hall of Justice site.

"Lots," he said enthusiastically. "Mom and Dad are taking me out later this summer to Yellowstone, we're going camping. I've never done civilian camping." I smiled; camping to heroes meant a lot of tech, surveillance, and very little actual camping.

"I can't wait to go back to camp," Deri said, joining us, and I handed her my cue so she could play as John took on Van. Van was really good at video games, but John adored this particular racing game and she was in for some stiff competition. She explained to Jon about Girl Scout camp, and I drifted off to refresh everybody's snacks and beverages. The video game competition was vicious. It was good for John to lose now and again. I came back to the pool table, where Jon was breaking for a new game.

"So what was going on with that thing at the high school?" Jon asked. "Made the news, even in Philadelphia, but there wasn't much news." Deri leaned against me for comfort as I explained very concisely what happened. Jon shook his head as he lined up his next shot.

"Kids ought to be off limits," he said, "but then, we're dealing with villains." I jumped a little as I felt a familiar pressure, a faint feeling of love. My head snapped around and I met Deri's shocked eyes. Looked like her gift was back.


	19. Under the stars

Deri and I acted like nothing had happened, and eventually everybody said goodnight so that we could go upstairs. We retreated to my room.

"So I guess you didn't know your power was back," I said.

"No," she said. "Every now and then I try, just to see, but I didn't expect it to actually work."

"So try again," I urged. "I'm safe, because you know I can't be swayed by your blandishments." She smiled slightly and we tried a quick series of experiments, discovering that while she had SOME power back, she didn't have it ALL.

"Makes sense," she said. "Maybe Aphrodite is testing me to make sure I can be responsible with it. I can, I've learned a lot since it was taken away. Lys, I wasn't trying to make you do anything, I swear, I just wanted you to feel better."

"I know, Deri," I said, hugging her. "And that was new, too, that it wasn't phrased in the form of a command, like in the past, but it was projective, so that's exciting, a new dimension. I'm so glad you've got it back."

"I am too, even it it's just a little. And it might stay that small, so that I'm not tempted to misuse it again. And I think that I'm ok with that," she said slowly. I was thrilled with her attitude and we talked about letting our parents know. She decided to wait until after Jon was gone, so that I could be in on the conversation too, a credible witness for her.

I got up early the next morning to get out on the river. I'd watched a final in the World competition a few nights ago, and their start was a stroke just over every second, the body of their race was a consistent 1.7 seconds per stroke, with the final push at the end at a stroke every second and a half. I had a long way to go, and our first regatta was the week after school was out, right before I went to summer school in London. I had a huge surprise when I got to the club, though; I was informed that my parents had bought me a single scull and it was waiting for me in the boathouse. It was glorious, a carbon skin scull that was black on the bow fading to lavender on the stern, and the new sculling oars were perfect, also made from carbon fiber. I'd be able to customize the settings on my personal scull, but I didn't have time to do that today and I wanted my coach's input too. Today, it was enough to use the factory settings and go out on the river and row like hell. It was glorious, even with my glove on; the chameleon fabric was a little slippery.

I got home in time for breakfast and hugged Mom as she was sitting down to eat. "Do you like it, dearest?" she asked as I got my own plate. Today we had a frittata. Yum.

"I love it," I said. "It's beautiful and so good on the water. I have a lot of work to do before I'm a good enough rower for it."

"Your father and I wanted you to have something special for this birthday," she said. "You've come so far in the past two years, Lysippe. That should be acknowledged. It has not been easy for you." Then Deri came down, followed by Jon. After breakfast, Jon and John and I went into the city to have some fun, having lunch as we roamed around. We went back home mid-afternoon; I had to start getting ready.

At around five, I came down, my hair in a simple twist, the dress perfect, and I had new pumps, dyed to match the dress, with a three inch heel. Even so, Jon towered over me and I felt tinier than usual. His suit was dark charcoal, coincidentally matching my hair, and made his shoulders look almost as broad as his father's. I carefully pinned the lily to his lapel and he handed me a pretty wrist corsage with barely blushing tiny rosebuds and delicate star jasmine with pretty greens behind the flowers. Dad had gotten home when I was upstairs and wanted to take our picture. But he was not very successful, so I ran up and got my smallest camera. I altered the settings, focusing on Jon to make sure it would be good, nudging Dad to stand right where I'd been, and all he had to do was press the shutter. It turned out pretty well, and I tucked my camera in my purse. We walked down the path to pick up John; Alfred and Delara were also there and they exclaimed over Jon and me too. Alfred was a lot more competent with the camera than Dad was, and he had the pod waiting for us when John managed to break free. From there, it was about a twenty-minute drive to Stacey's, and I took pictures of her and John as well as posing so her parents could take pictures of all four of us.

From there, we chatted excitedly in the pod as we drove to a new restaurant, D. It was a beautiful place in the historic district at South Williams Street and was getting a good reputation, but what few realized was that it was a new venture by the Delmonico brothers, who'd had some very famous restaurants in the mid to late 1800's to the early 1900s. Uncle Tony had told me about it, so I'd wanted to experience it for myself before word got out and I couldn't get in the door. There was valet parking, which was needed since the family pod didn't have a self-parking like Bob did. Inside, the buff-colored walls were painted with murals of flower gardens, the molding was picked out with gold, the lighting low but didn't impair vision. The hardwood floors had a satin finish, and we were shown to a booth in the corner that was upholstered in a rich crimson. The table was set with white linen, with lightly fragrant flowers in a low arrangement and a candelabra, cleverly positioned to provide light without obscuring lines of sight over the table. We decided to try the tasting menu (minus the wine because the boys weren't legal yet and Stacey and I didn't want to try it when our dates couldn't). We got a generous plate of appetizers to share, delicate little seafood morsels in delicate crisp puff pastry and oysters on the half shell. This was followed by a new take on Lobster Newberg and salad of greens, and we finished with a rich selection of entrements. It was all served en famille, which meant that Stacey and I could eat lightly, reducing the risk of spilling on our dresses. The boys made sure that nothing went to waste.

"That was extraordinary," I told our server when she came to the table with the bills, and the others also raved enthusiastically. And when she returned, she introduced the chef, who still spoke with a thick French accent. Charles Ranhofer. I though John was going to freak out. Chef was a legend who had created the original Lobster Newberg, along with an absolute host of other classic recipes. He beamed at our compliments and strode back to his kitchen.

"I've heard that they're building buzz for the place, and now I know why," Stacey said as we settled into the pod again. "Once it gets out that Ranhofer is in charge, it's going to be impossible to get into." Her mom was a banker who worked with risky enterprises like restaurants and she knew a lot about the business.

"My mo is going to be jealous when I tell her where we ate," Jon said. I'd never met Ms Lane, but she had won a Pulitzer, two Peabody Awards, and the Edward R Murrow Award, in addition to the Falconer and Calstens. She intimidated by reputation. "I don't think she knows that the Delmonicos have their hands in a new restaurant."

It was a short drive to the New Amsterdam Hotel, where our prom was being held. It was a smaller hotel, easily overlooked, but the prom committee raved about it. And once we were inside, I could see why. Carefully restored to a Belle Epoque Revival magnificence, the ballroom was slightly small--it was a bit of a crush--but welcoming. The photos were taken outside; the theme was "Under the Stars" and the backdrop was a night skyline against the stars. We got our picture taken, then went inside. The band was already playing, but we were early enough that we could grab one of the smaller tables as our home base. There was a liberal littering of chaperones everywhere, so it was safe for us to leave our purses. Jon was a good dancer and we started having a great time immediately. I introduced Jon to other friends, including Rob and Arch, who'd met him at the summer thing already but were glad to renew the acquaintance. Rain was friendly as ever, and the boys' dates looked at me like they had no idea how I'd managed to land such a handsome guy. Bwahaha! They'd freak if they knew.

My peripheral vision is excellent. The General Aunt Antiope trained Deri and me how to use it most effectively and strengthened our abilities as far as they would go, telling us that it's an excellent skill to have on the battlefield. It was probably the only facet of combat that I was better than Deri at. The general had in mind battle with sharp pointy things rather than a ballroom in Manhattan, but it was even more use here. I saw immediately when the group of my former friends came into the ballroom. I knew they'd seen me because they veered off to the other side of the room abruptly. Jinx was apparently going with Justine, Mark and Imogen were a couple, Nix was with the tennis player, Ari was with a girl from class. Once I knew that they'd seen me with my date, I ignored them and focused on having fun. Dancing, talking, and I also took pictures. After the break where the prom committee thanked us for coming and made their other announcements, I excused myself for the powder room. I checked my reflection on the way out, though, and my makeup was still really good.

"Who is that boy?" my teammate asked me. "He's hot! Those shoulders!"

"Isn't he, though?" I said calmly, touching up my lipstick. "He's from Philadelphia."

"Huh," she said. "Where did you go for dinner?" I saw her evaluate her dress against mine, and I won handily; she'd gone for sexy too hard and her dress was too tight over the butt, showing panty lines. Plus nobody does elegant like Uncle Steve.

"D," I said. "It was fantastic. Where did you go?" I touched up with blotter paper and repositioned a hairpin. She muttered the name of a nice restaurant.

"I should have asked you to double date with us, teammie," she said as I closed my purse.

"I think not, you're with my ex," I said. "That would be a little uncomfortable."

"Didn't think you'd back away from a challenge, Anna," she said, needling me a bit. She'd known about Nix.

"Oh, it would have been uncomfortable for Nix to meet my date, not for me. Have a great time," I said briskly, and went out to find Jon. We stayed right to the end, both pairs enjoying the dance immensely. Then we went out with Rain, Rob, and Arch and their dates to an all-night diner afterward. Lobster Newberg or not, I was starving. Eventually, reluctantly, we broke up and headed for home, dropping off Stacey and parking the pod in the garage at home. We said goodnight to John and ambled along the path up to the big house. It was a beautiful night, the sky full of stars. It had been a fantastic evening, and I was really glad that Jon had shared it with me.


	20. London

I made it down to brunch just ahead of Jon, who was going to be going home on the noon bullet train--30 minutes and you're in Philadelphia. Not bad. I wished he could have stayed longer, but homework. Everybody had it, and finals were coming up. I took him to the train station, where he surprised me with a kiss. "Wish we lived in the same city," he said regretfully, and I waved as he boarded the train.

When I got back to the house, I reviewed the pictures from the night before and sent some to their subjects' school email, they might enjoy them. There were some cute ones of Jon, and me and Jon, and I sent those to him. Then Deri tapped on my door and we went down to talk to our parents about Deri's gift. Well, she talked, anyway, and I confirmed what she said. It was sort of a courtesy, because clearly the goddess thought that Deri was ok with a small amount of power, and there really wasn't much our parents could do about it. They hemmed and hawed a bit, asking questions to make sure Deri was going to be responsible, then asked me what I thought.

"I think she knows that if she misuses it again, the goddess could take it away and this time there'd probably be no getting it back," I said. "And Deri isn't the same girl she was. She's a lot more thoughtful." So that was that. I went over to John's to study. After a certain amount of dissection of the event with Alfred and Delara, we got down to business and started work. When we took a break for the cookies that Alfred brought in, I told him about my new scull, and he was pleased for me. We talked about the first regatta of the season; John's eight were the best the club had to offer. We talked some about racing strategy; coach said that I was really good at making the fine adjustments to steer my boat; it was easier than with the eights because it was just me and dance had given me a really delicate sense of balance. For me, it translated into an ability to keep my scull going straight; the longer the boat, the less maneuverable it was, and when you got really going, this lack of maneuverability could be dangerous. John knew this pretty well; their coxswain had narrowly avoided a collision with another boat the other day.

"Our cox isn't the best, and we have a couple of rowers who think they know better," he complained. "You have to listen to the cox."

"I'm glad I don't have one," I said, selecting another cookie. "I do think I know best." He laughed.

"It's easier with singles," he agreed. "Our cox lets himself get pushed around by those rowers. So I had a thought about this summer, when we're in London." I looked at him attentively. "One of my mates from Eton is a member at the Vesta Rowing Club, and he said he'd support our application; we can join at half price since the season will be well under way."

"That sounds great," I said. "I was worried about losing a whole month of practice."

"It's one of the oldest clubs on the Thames, very competitive. I think you could benefit from different coaching and perspectives. You could be really good if you push yourself." We discussed this a little and I agreed to apply. It would be fun to row on a different river and I could learn a lot from exposure to different coaches.

All in all, I was feeling really good going back to school on Monday. I'd gotten compliments from everybody for the pictures, and Jon had said his parents really enjoyed seeing them. I'd kept my cool when my tennis teammate had goaded me about Nix, and I hadn't let her walk all over me. And I thought that I might have a new friend in Stacey. The successful weekend had provided me with a significant boost to counteract the depression I'd flirted with after the Joker incident. Dr Lance hadn't had to tell me that it was temporary, but it just felt so good to be light-hearted for any amount of time that I was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. And for the first time, I felt like I had a hold of an end of that tangle, that it was finally a matter of untangling my emotions and facing my fears. I no longer felt like I was struggling to stay afloat, and I was grateful and relieved.

Respecting the looming finals, I got into specialized study groups for classes I was most concerned about, and Arch, Rain, Rob, John, and Stacey firmed up plans for weekend study groups. We all had things we had to do, including work, my last tennis match, and Arch was on the golf team; he had two more tournaments because he was going to State. Rain and Rob were also golfers, but they preferred to keep it social. We also decided to add other acquaintances as we felt like it, both to make sure there were enough people at a session to make it worthwhile, and also for the increased knowledge base. Finals were hard, but I did pretty well on them. The SATs, which had been really screwed up from the incursion of evil, finally were posted and I'd scored in the 96th percentile. I felt that it had helped a lot to be more relaxed when I went in the second time.

I ran into Imogen at a family party, William was graduating from high school. Uncle Bucky was proud of his son, but took the time to plan a couple of self-defense lessons with me before I went back to London. We met in the refreshment line, and I said hi, but she kind of ignored me. I rolled my eyes and started selecting food from the buffet; sandwiches, raw veggies and dip in little cups, pasta salad, chips. William would cut his cake later. Uncle Richard, on the other side, saw this and frowned. "Are you two still not speaking?" he asked. Well, duh. I kind of wondered how he'd gotten his reputation as a top-notch detective.

"Apparently not," I said after a silence in which it was clear his daughter wasn't going to speak.

"I'm surprised you haven't made up," he said. Imogen still didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm not to blame for what happened, and neither are any of the other kids," I said. "I know that, I accept it, and I place the blame where it belongs. If they prefer to wallow in guilt and whatnot, there's nothing I can do about it but move on. It's too bad, but that's the result." I shrugged, irritated. Uncle Richard looked between us.

"How are you fixed for friends, Lys?" he asked, concerned.

"I've developed other friendships. Those guys aren't the only people in high school, after all. And I took Jon to prom after Nix dumped me. I'm moving on." Imogen jerked, then put the spoon back in the potato salad and left. I looked at my uncle. "I'm not going to carry anybody's baggage but my own. It hurts to be blamed for not being super, but I'm not. I did the best I could, and they did too. If they can't see that and accept it, that's on them. I know she's your daughter, but I'm not feeling the family love here."

He smiled. "You can't fix everything for your kids, Lys, and I can't make her see reason. We've tried, we've sent her to a couple therapists, but it seems like she's entrenched herself. I'm sorry, though." He looked at me through his lashes. "So... Jon Kent, huh?" I started to laugh, and I showed him the pictures from prom. He grinned too, and I headed over to Uncle Tony, who was looking a lot better these days.

All in all, it was a relief to go to London.

We took Deri to the bus for camp--she was staying a month, so our parents would be off their leash for a whole four weeks. Then they took me to the airport, where I took a supersonic flight to London with John. He was going to stay with his Eton friend for a week, take two weeks of classes as planned, then stay an extra week, and we'd go home together. We'd been approved for temporary membership at the rowing club, and we were both really looking forward to our adventure.

This time I was in the regular residence hall. There wasn't any adult supervision, but there were a lot of safety features, including the need for a fob for the outer door, complete surveillance outside the door and in the corridors and common rooms, and there were university staff available when needed. After unpacking, I took a cab to the rowing club, where I got my ID and got checked out on a single scull by the coaches. They were reasonably pleased and immediately had a lot of ideas for my improvement. It was kind of intimidating, but cheering, on the other hand, to have people think that I could improve so much. There was a welcoming party that night after check in, and I wasn't the only returning student. I didn't recognize anybody, but it was fun to compare notes about last summer's classes and help get new people oriented.

The next morning I got up and went to the rowing club. Two hours on the Thames with a coach to help me get used to this river and the way things were done here, focus on the catch, and I was glad to get cleaned up and off to class. This first week was going to be brutal: the long class in makeup, the short classes in portrait photography and advanced lighting, and the weekend class in photography preservation. But next week would be the long class in cosmetics science and the short course in architectural photography. Week three: interior design and the short class in advanced photographic processes. Week four only had a short class in luxury photography. That was going to be a great week, because John had plans to show me around London, not just tourist stuff, and we were going to spend more time rowing.

The next week was the most strenuous of my life, I think. Pleasantly so, though. I got up at 4 am to go rowing, grabbed breakfast on the way to class, and learned tons about makeup and styling hair; there was a bit about trimming hair and we got to practice on a dummy head, but cutting hair right is not easy and I rather thought that I would leave it to the professionals. Styling, on the other hand, was something that anyone could do. I felt that I had a lot more tools in my arsenal as a photographer now, and I could book a wider variety of jobs if I could provide additional services. I loved portrait photography; we learned several valuable tricks and practiced on each other. I actually came away with two portraits for my portfolio that the instructor called "excellent." And for a super-special ultra-mega treat, they brought in Cecil Beaton, a renowned portrait and fashion photographer from the twentieth century, to talk about his career and look over our portraits. He had comments for every student, although not every portrait, showing us what could elevate a particular portrait and what was good about the best ones. He looked at one of mine without speaking for a couple moments.

"This is close to perfect," he told the class. "The photographer has provided a simple wardrobe for the model that keeps the focus on the face, and has managed to engage the model so that her personality shines through." I'd told my classmate jokes until she'd laughed. "Clients are very willing to pay for portraits like this, less formal perhaps, but being able to see the person that they are in a portrait is a difficult skill to perfect." And he moved on. I was stunned. And wished that I had a record of that to share with my parents. I don't think they were still really on board with my career choice.

The advanced lighting class was illuminating (tee hee) and I could see immediately how improvements to lighting improve both technique and the final product. We also learned some improvisational techniques and ways to enhance and manage the light outdoors.

The weekend class was eight hours of learning how to preserve negatives, digital storage devices, and developed paper prints, and an introductory-level discussion of how to repair superficial to moderate damage. I caught a nap after the Sunday session and was up to take part in the party to greet new students, which included John. We hadn't seen each other to talk to all week, and we sat in the lounge, ate our pizza, and talked. I heard about his rowing, the fun he and his friend had been having, and I was able to recount my successes.

"I'm proud of you, Lys," he said. "I have no doubt that this will be the right career for you. You're learning so much and you're still in high school. A few more years, and you'll be tearing up the world of photography. Lys Wayne is going to be a force all on her own." I glowed at the praise and hoped that he was right. I didn't want to peak early and spend the rest of my life as a flame-out. Or worse, in some ways, somebody who had to lean on their family name.

The next week was fortunately easier, but still busy. John and I cabbed to the rowing club together in the morning, had breakfast as we talked about what we'd done on the river, and split up for class. He was taking furniture styles and interior styling this week. None of the chemistry we learned was new to me (thanks, high school chemistry!) and I created my own formulas for shampoo, conditioner, sunscreen, moisturizer, and some basic cosmetics. I also learned how to tweak them to provide the most optimal products for my hair features and skin chemistry, which was fun. The architectural photography class was the first three days of the week, and after an hour in lecture each day, we were taken to a variety of buildings that had been closed for brief periods of time so we could shoot without people interfering. We had to work fast; in some cases, we only had fifteen minutes at a location. But we also learned about photographing architectural details, easy to do even when there were people on site. John and I met after class and had dinner and poked around some at night with other students from the residence hall. Friday night, we got spiffed up and went out to dinner and a club, dancing and having fun.

The third week didn't start off too auspiciously. I was clipped by an eight whose cox was either overconfident, stupid, or both. I had the right of way, they didn't have the maneuverability to get around, and I really unloaded on the cox when we were both on the pier. The coxswain is the boss of the boat and is legally responsible for the boat and the rowers. He'd violated a whole raft of safety standards, boat maneuvering standards, showed a shaky grasp of basic command and control, boating acumen, and transportation. The cox was livid at the end of my rant, but he'd caused damage to the scull I was using (mine was at home, fortunately) and had scared the crap out of me. Sixty feet of boat bearing down on you will do that. I didn't really talk about that part, though. The infuriated cox appealed to the coach who'd been working with me and seen the whole thing, confident that he'd support the cox over the temporary member, but the coach told him to go wait, they had a few things to discuss, such as whether to relieve him of his responsibilities. Then he turned to me and asked if I'd ever thought about coxing myself.


	21. Back home again

"How much do you weigh?" the coach asked me as I looked over the damage to the scull I'd been using.

"Just over 50 kilos," I said. I usually weigh 112 pounds.

"Good," he said. "And have you ever wanted to be a coxswain?"

"Truthfully, I've never thought about it. I've listened to people complain about them, and it doesn't actually sound like a lot of fun."

"People in positions of responsibility aren't universally liked," the coach shrugged. "They have to motivate the crew and tell them what they're doing wrong, get them to correct problems. But a good cox is well-liked and respected. And boats can't be successful over time without a good cox." He studied me as I picked up the scull. "You're just here for a short period of time, there's not enough time to really get you into training. But we do have sufficient resources to give you a taste of the training, see if you like it, if you have potential. If you want to go ahead, I'll contact your home club to see about continuing training."

"I'd rather row, myself," I admitted.

"It's not an either/or thing. In fact, continuing to row is good for your development as a cox. Pick up your scull, I'll sign off on the report that you weren't at fault, I'll get you some training materials to study, and you can put your time in on the erg. I think you're slacking there. I don't know how teams are chosen in your home club, but virtually anywhere, especially if you want to be competitive in singles, your erg results are factored heavily." And this was exactly what happened.

When I went back the next day after class, the coaches had me out on the river, on the erg, and then sitting in a simulator. Coxes started out in tubs, two person boats, and the sim had an instructional level where it told you what you were doing wrong. I knew the rules cold, having learned them for this river before we came over, so it was a matter of putting them into practice by directing others. It was surprisingly engrossing, giving commands. After an hour in the sim, the coach pulled me out and quizzed me on the roles of a cox (safety, steering, and speech) and we went over safety information, which mostly (but not exclusively) meant weather, river traffic (including wild birds and animals, fishers, and other boats,) river debris, and locks on the river, which are dangerous.

When I found John, he was talking to a boy who turned out to be the friend who'd suggested this club, Nigel Jones. He was tall, lean, and broad shouldered, like all of the heavyweights, with a shock of blond hair, high cheekbones, and brown eyes which lit up when he saw me. "This is the girl, Pennyworth," he exclaimed. "This is the girl who gave Thomson the dressing down! That was a thing of beauty," he said to me. "Thomson's gotten too big for his britches. He's a cox at Cambridge, comes down a few times a week for extra work, and thinks he's at God's right hand. I'm sorry we ran you over. You could have been seriously hurt."

"Not your fault," I said. "It's the cox's responsibility."

"Do you mind if Nigel here joins us?" John asked me.

"No, that will be fun," I said. "I'll get cleaned up and meet you back here." When I'd showered and changed, Nigel suggested a restaurant on the river for refueling after the workout. Since we were there off-peak, we felt free to linger. Nigel was to start Oxford in the fall, which explained why he wasn't up at Eton, rowing on their team. He asked us what we were studying next fall--I was taking civics and English because I had no choice, stats and anatomy and physiology to round out my requirements, then photography, ethical hacking, and I thought I'd take an entrepreneurial skills course since I was looking at my own business as a photographer. John was also stuck with civics, English, and stats, but he was taking geology for his science elective, then auto mechanics, music appreciation, and comparative religions. Nigel was well-versed in John's quest to become widely educated and didn't comment on his choices, but he did question why we were taking so many classes. John had to explain the difference between the Eton model and the American model.

"So where were you earlier?" John asked me. "I looked for you in the tank and ergs, but I couldn't find you."

"Well, after the altercation on the pier, the coach asked me if I'd like to try being a cox myself, so I was doing sims," I explained. John blinked, and Nigel grinned.

"You're fearless enough," Nigel said.

"I didn't know that was an ambition of yours," John said slowly.

"I never considered it," I said. "But so far it's interesting and fun, and I don't have to give up rowing for it. It's too bad that I'll only be here for not quite two weeks, but the coaches said they'll contact Rikers Rowing so hopefully I can continue to learn there."

"Good coxes are worth their weight in gold," Nigel said briskly. "If they're reluctant to train you, take it as a sign that they're not a very good club and find some other place to train."

We poked around the city and I learned where some excellent pubs were, found some great eclectic shops, and took pictures; it was becoming a habit. John boasted to Nigel that someday he'd be able to say he had some of my earliest work, and after that Nigel wanted a few snaps as well. It was a good time, and after dinner in one of the pubs, we separated; Nigel to go on with his evening, and John and me to do homework. And that was the framework for the rest of the week: early, I was out rowing, then my long class, lunch, the short class, which was Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, then back to learn some coxing until a late dinner, then studying back at the residence hall with John; we traded stories about our days during study breaks, and we ended up afterward going for a pint before bed.

The next week was even better, luxury photography was only three days, and there was forty-five minutes of lecture before going to venues. We had time at upscale retailers like Fortnum and Mason and Harrods to photograph their offerings in situ, specialty stores like Jermyn Street shirtmakers, exclusive providers of fine food, wines, and spirits, as well as models in the latest by Alexander McQueen and the traditional jewelers of Moussaieff and Asprey. There were tricks to making jewelry sparkle and other techniques to use to showcase the quality of the goods. After that, I got lunch with somebody from class those three days, on my own for the other two, then went back to the rowing club for more training. They put me out on the river in a tub with rowers who weren't rank novices (like me) but also not so good that they resented my mistakes. They also had helpful comments for me along with the coaches, and I started to feel like this was something I could really do. The coaches thought I had promise and contacted Rikers to advise them of my interest and progress. Then the afternoons were free for John and me to explore. He took me all over the place, including Highgate. Its open spaces and woods had been badly damaged by the Great Winter and was still getting back on its feet. It was a formerly pretty posh place that had been in decline before Ragnarok, and there were groups dedicated to getting it restored. Parts of it were still off-limits as the council was trying to determine whether it could tear down the historic structures or whether they could be rehabilitated. It was still shabby overall, but new businesses, including excellent tea shops and coffee houses, small groceries, confectioneries and specialty stores, were leading the revitalization effort and restoring the charm.

I think both of us regretted that we had to go back, but there was our rowing club to rejoin, friends to do things with, work, and John's birthday was coming up pretty pressingly. I'd gotten him a rowing shirt from Vesta Rowing Club in the club's colors, made from high-tech performance fabric, to commemorate the summer. I'd gotten myself a waterproof, heavy-duty stopwatch. I'd developed a real enthusiasm for coxing. We went back the same way we'd arrived, and although I'd had a lot of fun and had learned tons, it was good to be back home in my room, with my parents. The next day we went to pick up Deri from camp, and that was nice too. The day after that, I went back to work and picked up my familiar routine. My friends were full of questions and I caught up on their activities too; we'd talked while I was gone, but there's nothing like a face-to-face conversation. And perhaps inevitably, we started talking about colleges, where we'd love to go, where we'd probably end up. I really wanted to go back to UAL for their focus on photography but I wasn't quite sure how that would fly with my parents. They had in mind something traditional for me, but I wasn't sure that would be best for what I wanted. I wanted to talk to the careers counselor at school about it.

In July, Mom and Dad jumped on that boat and started asking questions. As I suspected, they wanted me to go to a traditional university so that I could get a good general education as well as specializing with my major. Dad sent me a list of websites for good schools with highly-rated photography programs, including NYU and Columbia as well as schools in other states. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the nudge I needed came from another source.

Z and Dari had come home for a visit for John's birthday, and I was up at their house; hanging out with them and John one afternoon when I wasn't working. Dari asked me where I was going to apply, and there was a rather odd silence. "Lys, I don't think you're aiming in the right direction," Z said, to my surprise. "When John told me what you were considering, I took the photographs that I had round to our art department, and the tutor I spoke with said that the photographer had the potential to work internationally. And John told me what that photographer said about your portraits. I think you should go to school abroad. I love going to school in England. And, frankly, you're a member of an internationally-known family, even if Deri's going to take over the business. You could do your sister a lot of good making contacts with the next generation of movers and shakers, and she's still dead set on going to school at Yale or Harvard. If you go international, between the two of you, you could increase your base of acquaintances significantly. Your grades are excellent, why not apply?" She grinned at me. "And there's nothing more traditional than Cambridge."

"Except for Oxford," John said lazily. "Probably founded in 1096. It's the third oldest university in continuous operation in the world; only the University of Bologna, founded in 1088, and the University of Al-Karaouine, founded in 859 in Fes, Morocco have been around longer. Cambridge is a newbie, it was only founded in 1210, I think."

"1209," Z corrected him in freezing tones.

"I'm applying to Oxford," he said. "I can row there, and they offer a course in human studies, 'which enables students to study the biological, social and cultural aspects of human life,'" he recited.

"That does sound interesting," Dari said. "Useful for a butler, or at least helpful."

"They have a photography program in the bachelor of fine arts," John suggested to me. "So there you go. You can get a prestigious world-class degree along with some useful side benefits of studying at Oxford, such as going out for rowing, and London is close to hand for more of those practical courses you love. And, importantly, it only takes three years instead of four like American universities. You could be out in the world a whole year sooner, or be able to take more classes at London if you want."

Z smiled. "Cambridge has an arts program as well, with photography as an option," she suggested. "It's fairly new, it was started about eighty years ago. But look, there's a lot of studio time, less geared to fine art and more toward working photography. And Cambridge has a rowing tradition too." John scowled at her.

This was batted around a bit more before I had to get going. Gave me something to think about, and I started to expand my research.


	22. The Battery

Mom and Dad were kind of gobsmacked when I told them that I was planning to apply to Oxford and Cambridge. I also threw out a couple of US schools, carefully chosen from those on the West coast and the University of Hawaii. None of them were as prestigious.

"This is... unexpected, dear," Mom said.

"Well, you both want me to go to a school where I can get a good education, not just training in photography," I pointed out. "Oxford and Cambridge swap out being the best university in the world between them. And both of them have application procedures that include interviews, so that they're looking at the whole person. I think I can do the work." I took a bite of dinner and watched for their reactions. They were dedicated to building my self-esteem, still somewhat on shaky ground, so they couldn't say that they didn't think I could succeed there even if they felt it was true. "There are tutors to give individualized attention to each student, so it's not like in universities here where you have to hope you can get in to see the professor during their office hours. There's somebody you meet regularly with to answer questions and explain things in different ways. I think it's a model that would really help me learn." I took a look at my sister, who was just shoving her dinner around. "Additionally, although I'm not going into the family business, I can meet new people there from all over the world, and those connections could help Deri down the road. And the UK is closer than some of my other choices. It would be easier to come home on some of the short breaks. And Deri could come visit. It's good exposure to another culture, and we all know that I'm crap with foreign languages." Everybody should remember the struggles I had with Greek.

"I suppose that the rowing tradition there has nothing to do with it," Dad said wryly.

"It doesn't hurt," I acknowledged. "But seventy percent of students try rowing in their three years there, it doesn't mean that I'll be particularly good at it. More important, to me, is that I get to study what I want, while going to a college that satisfies the criteria that's important to you. I understand why you want me to have a well-rounded education, and I know what I want to do. While I think my career might be better served at a school that focuses on photography as a business, I also have a lot of knowledge that I've gained from those classes I've taken at UAL. Even if I went there, I'd still be studying theory and doing a lot of the same things I'd be doing at the other universities. If I want, I can always take classes at UAL AFTER I get done with my three years at Cambridge or Oxford." Hah. I'd sewed up Mom and Dad's objections pretty neatly. And they knew it.

Eventually, they came around to the idea, then enthusiastically promoted it. They set me up with informational interviews with alumni from both universities who were happy to discuss their experiences, what they felt the most important qualities were for applicants, and were very interested in my rowing. All but one had very fond memories of trying it for themselves, and they all remembered the fun they had at the Oxford-Cambridge annual race. The deadline for application was in October for both schools, so I wanted to be early. My grades were good, even if they didn't come from a prep school anymore, and I felt that I could make or break my applications with the interviews. I knew my family name would have an impact, but I wanted it to matter as little as possible. There really wasn't an institution on Earth that wouldn't consider the implications of admitting me, but it mattered to me that if I got admitted that it should be as much on my own merits as possible.

My other friends were interested to hear about my choices and laughed to hear how I'd manipulated my parents. Rain and Rob wanted to go to Harvard for undergrad--their dads had gone to law school there, Arch wanted to go somewhere warmer and less traditional, and was leaning toward Tulane or the University of Florida. Stacey wanted to stay local at NYU. Our summer, while fun, had a slight pall cast over it because we were starting to really shape our futures, and frankly, it was kind of scary, those first steps into independence.

I settled back into my life comfortably, enjoying AI Tony on my rides in and out of the city, diving back into work with enthusiasm. At rowing, the coaches had talked to those in Vesta and worked to help develop me as a cox. They thought I had a lot of promise, even though I was still screwing up in sims. Out on the river in the tubs, though, I was doing ok, and by the end of July, they had advanced me to fours. To my surprise, I found that I really enjoyed bossing the rowers around. Well, I had reasons for all my directions, and I worked hard on my motivational skills as well, but it was definitely an aspect of my personality that I hadn't thought existed. John was encouraging too and helped by telling me what his experiences with coxes of all abilities were, so there were cautionary tales as well as inspirational ones.

As I was eating lunch one day on my work break, I was surprised to see Jinx standing by my table. I chewed and swallowed, looking up at him, waiting. He shifted uncomfortably. "May I sit down?" he asked and I nodded. "I want to apologize, but I don't really know how to do it in a way that you'll accept," he said.

"There are no magic words," I said impatiently. "You tell me what you're sorry for and what you want from your apology. I accept it or not. It's not that tough, really."

"I apologize for what happened at the SATs and after," he said quickly. "It wasn't fair to blame you for anything, you were just as much a victim as any of us. It was just easier because you did have some defense, you did the most of any of us to get away, to do something, or so I'm told. And you failed, but it wasn't for lack of trying. It was wrong to make you feel like you had any blame for that situation. You were a good friend, and I miss spending time with you. I'd like a second chance to be your friend."

"What happened, the kidnapping, the torture, had nothing to do with you. You were just a bargaining chip of sorts or a pawn, and you have nothing to apologize for there. What you can apologize for is piling on during that last lunch. I don't know what was done to you when I wasn't around, but I know what they did to me, and I suffered a lot. I didn't deserve for any of you to speak to me like that. I'm not to blame either, especially by the ones who were sitting scared but safe in that office. I'm still angry about how unjust that was and I'm tired of groups of friends being all shitty and dumping me over circumstances I had no control over. I thought we'd all get through the aftermath together. I don't know if I want to be friends with you again, frankly."

"Wow," he said. "I'm kind of surprised. You've got a real backbone. Well, I can understand why you feel that way. But I'd like you to consider that we were all kind of traumatized. Nobody really had time to sort through their feelings, and it just spiraled out of control. But I am sorry. Take your time and think about it. I've made my apology, it's heartfelt, and I can't do more. If you want to take me up on it, well, I'll be here on lunch breaks if you want." And he got up and walked off.

Huh.

I had some food for thought. I took several days to turn it over in my head, but ultimately I decided to accept his apology, mostly because he made it and I missed his friendship. We eased our way back into friendship, discussing what we'd done with our summers so far to start. I told John about it because now that Jinx had made the effort with me, I thought that John might be next on the list. He was, and they had a good chat before John also accepted the apology.

July turned into August, and I completed the university application for the UK. There was one that was used for all universities there, and that was step one. I had to have references and personal statements and additional forms for both Oxford and Cambridge, and I wanted to get going on them. The deadline was in early October for international applicants, and I didn't want to be pushing up against that. I also applied at Hawaii, and Parsons, which I hadn't discussed with my family, but why not. It was local and had a good photography school, and I wanted to be sure I had options. I contacted a couple of teachers who I felt knew me and my potential pretty well and they agreed to write references for me. I made myself a timeline of deadlines that I had to meet and made personal deadlines ahead of those, hanging the paper on the wall by my desk so I could check things off. It was a busy summer, cramming fun in around the applications process, work, rowing, and tennis.

Jon invited me down to Philadelphia for a couple of days; I stayed at his house, finally meeting his formidable but completely nice mother. Superman was there too, but he had League business, just like my mom, and flitted off a few hours into my visit. Jon took me around the city; I'd been there once before, but that had been when I was really little, and all I could remember was the Liberty Bell. Jon was a good tour guide and I liked spending time with him. He was applying to schools with the best journalism schools, Columbia, Syracuse, Northwestern, and Ohio University. But with an enthusiasm that was typical, he was interested in the UK schools and how different they were, and told me that Wally was going to go to school in St. Louis. He introduced me to some of his civilian friends too, and I had a really good time.

When I got back, Mom and Aunt Amy had taken Deri shopping for school clothes like they'd done for me, and she enjoyed showed me her loot. Truthfully, I'd been so caught up in my own business that I'd forgotten that she was starting high school. Geeze. My little sister was in high school. Mom went with us both to pay our school fees and I gave Deri a tour of the school. Then we dropped Mom off at work and we went shopping for school supplies, having lunch and goofing around some. It was fun.

We'd had two regattas since I'd been back and I was showing improvement as a single sculler. The upcoming race would be my first as a cox, and I was really nervous. My rowers were new this year, and sometimes they got a little confused, but we were working on it. The regatta was on the Hudson, so pretty much home water. I worked hard though, working out the best ways to address my rowers. This regatta was a two-day affair due to all the races (qualifying races were needed) and I achieved a fourth-place finish in singles. My boat came in dead last in the novice women's fours, but at least we'd made it to the finals. Lots of room for improvement, but a pretty good accomplishment anyway.

The week before school resumed (we were seniors! top of the heap!), I was down in the Battery with Jinx and John, taking it easy and having fun. We had a picnic and it was really nice just to relax; coming up was another regatta, the resumption of school, and the stress of applying for college.

The Battery was rocked by three explosions. One in the harbor, a ferry carrying passengers exploded off Pier A. The second was in the Bowling Green subway station. And the third blew up the SeaGlass carousel.


End file.
